Just after midday, the stormclouds began to recede somewhat, the frontal system heading inward as the typhoon steadily weakened. Sunlight now floods the upper chambers of the basilica, thudding with near audible illumination upon the marble. Windows, while closed, are uncovered, giving a grand view of both the beauty of sun-split stormclouds and the terrible evidence of the storm's petulant swath over the Capitol City.
While commanders and princes and princesses help with rescue and rebuilding, upstairs a Sun King naps. Once fiery wings, made solid by his weakened state, are golden feathered, each pinion appearing as if it had been dipped in the molten metal and set to cool. They are lifted, folded around him to form a kind of cocoon, covering his face like that of a slumbering eagle and a good portion of his visible body.
His left leg, cast and braced, lies stiff upon the inside of the sofa, resting against the cushions and also slightly propped up by the last set of doctors to improve the circulation. His right leg, unwounded, is clothed in softest scarlet cotton and drapes off of the sofa, his foot flat on the ground.
It is difficult for one of his size to be comfortable on a sofa, let alone with a leg that cannot bend. It is only that he is a soldier and therefore capable of sleeping anywhere any time, that allows him to rest in such a state.
His wings show the evidence of his slow and measured breaths. The golden feathers flutter as his exhales lower, flatten as his inhales lift.
The doors open, and did ever you see such a bedraggled sparrow as currently is blown in on the parting winds of the storm? She's clothed in a cast-off page's uniform of the air corps, the gold braid matted to the cotton and the leather by layers of water, mud and unidentifiable gunk. The shoulder-length auburn hair's in a sorry state, plastered to her scalp and appears to be missing a few locks. And the condition of her boots is something which even a stablehand would shudder to see.
"Baz!" Maddie is exultant, bouncing into your bedroom to tumble to her knees next to your couch, propping her hands on the edge of your cushion. "Bazbazbazbaz! Wake up! Are you feeling any better? Sabira and I rescued people! You should have seen us, it was awesome! We were awesome! She flew in like this," she spreads her arms out, "and dove in and GRABBED the kid right as we were about to fall - and there was this HUGE wave - and!"
Even she runs out of breath occasionally. She flops back, taking a deep breath and looking around. "Where is she, anyway? She should be here, too!"
"Oh! You are so fast!"
It is Sabira who appears from the front door. "Oh!" she exclaims again, seeing her brother there. "Is he sleeping? Sorry!" she stage whispers. Her long black hair is curly and wet, hanging to the middle of her back. Her red cardinal wings are still unfurled, her red and brown leather glistening with the rain, all of her clothing wet-to-drenched. Her red leather booths (thigh high) squeak and gurgle with every step.
"Aw, he is sort of cute when he is motionless..." Sabira smiles to you and claps her hands, the room filling with fresh hot tea and cakes and breads and flavored butters and honey and dates stuffed with walnuts.
Balthazar's large, golden wings shift, lifting a little as he stretches...
And then utters such expletives that Sabira's face turns as scarlet as her wings. She gasps.
His pretty mouth, bruised berries, makes a scowl and then he smiles, such a weird combination! His expression at once affectionate and pained. "You did what?" he wonders to Maddie. He looks her up and down, then glances to his sister. You look different, sister. Tea? Balthazar returns his attention to his girl. "You were able to rescue, then? How are things going out there?"
He doesn't answer her question. He lifts his wings, tucking them out of the way. His cuts and abrasions are improving, bloody mess becoming bruised in healing. His ribs and his legs are the worst of it. He is only half clothed; in fact, he's only 1/4 clothed, his upper body bare, with only his right leg fully clothed. His wounded left leg is covered mostly by the cast and brace, only his left hip and upper thigh clothed for propriety's sake. Not his, mind you, but the doctors'.
Sabira looks at you both, smiling as she pours three cups of tea. "We delivered food and aid and supplies. We ran... how many? Six rescues? Mostly the docks and then the market place and then there are those house along the waterfront, on the lower end?" she tells her brother. "There was a lot of damage there."
Balthazar looks from his sister to his girl. He smiles tenderly to Maddie. "I'm very proud of you," he murmurs to her. "Both of you," he says again, including Sabira in both his look and his praise.
Smiling with a coy blush, Sabira hands her brother a cup first and then Maddie. "Commander Jibril was a big help to us. Fortunately, he only had to rescue us trying to rescue others once. The winds were very pitchy," she notes to Maddie.
She would be hugging you if it were not for your damage. The salty language leaves her unfazed as only an American who's grown up around boats can be, and she ruffles your hair. "Six," Maddie confirms. "There was the baker's family, there were those mudrats in the sewers being swept out to sea, there was the - well, anyway."
She turns to take tea, adrenaline still running her high, exhaustion not yet setting in. "Thanks, Sabira. You did a great catch when that kid pitched off that roof! I swear, I thought he was going to take both of us with him. That's where the commander had to step in," Maddie explains for your benefit. "At least it wasn't the highest of the four towers in that area. Anyway, are you feeling any better yet? Is there anything we can do?" She can take on the world in her current state!
"No, I'm not. I'm fucking bored and in pain and it takes an hour to pee. Well, an hour to get up for a piss." He pauses. "I don't want to talk about me for a moment. Thank you, sister," he murmurs to Sabira as he takes the cup. "Ah, hmm... actually, sweet," he murmurs to Maddie, "could you hold this a second?" He hands her his cup. He needs to readjust and sit up a bit.
"Maddie was incredible," Sabira says, smiling to her friend, plopping down not far from her. "Everybody loves her. I can tell. You'll be very popular, especially with the kids. It went very well. We're going to go out again. You are getting grumpy and cussing," she teases Balthazar, her face tipping into a coy, passive pose.
Giving his sister a golden stare, Balthazar uses the leverage of his hands upon the sofa's back and arm to push himself up, more of a sit than a recline now. The pillows that his nainie had propped for him need to be resettled, but at least he can sip at his tea in this position and not wear it. "I don't like sitting still," is all he says to Sabira.
Sipping his tea, he twists his upper body to set the cup aside for a bit. He exhales, looking to Maddie. "I am glad you are here. Able and willing to help and to learn." Golden eyes flicker to Sabira, "Avert your eyes a moment, sister..."
As Sabira giggles, hiding behind the curtains of her scarlet wings, Balthazar crooks his finger, motioning you to bend closer...
For a kiss...
She takes the cup in both hands, her own cup set down as she sits up properly - well, bit more properly. "You are grumpy today," Maddie makes a face at you, then grins. She isn't angry in the slightest. She is beaming. "Oh, good, you can't be that bad if you can sit up without help," she adds blithely.
She hands your tea back up to you, shaking her head. "We've been ordered in for a little bit," Maddie makes a face again, "even though I hate to leave a job undone. But we're to rest for half an hour at the least and get some hot food and something to drink. I'm not sure when they're pulling us back out. It's a lot of fun, though! This must be like what my granny said it was like when she was a WAC. Except better, because I can't imagine they'd let the women fly the rescues, back then."
She giggles and blushes as you crook your finger, and she shifts up on her knees, leaning in towards you, lips plumped coyly. "Are you saying you missed me, you grumpy old prince?" she coos at you, blushing a bit. The mood is suddenly on her, and her glance flickers to your thigh regretfully. No, you are still injured. "Phooey," Maddie says out loud, then blushes further. "I don't know. Have you been resting like a good boy?"
There are gagging noises coming from behind the scarlet wings...
Purple lips twist. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. It doesn't take much work to pretend. He sees his wet and bedraggled and blushing warrior princess leaning in as called and smiles. His right hand comes up to balance at your cheek as wounded lips brush your own. It is a gentle slide of warmth, almost chaste. But then a proper kiss explodes. Balthazar spreads your mouth beneath his own.
But sudden and heated as a sun flare, the kiss just as quickly recedes. Balthazar settles back with a sigh. "I've been lying here. I'm not sure that's resting. The surgeons have requested that I not move apart from absolute necessity. You can stop hiding now, Sabira," he tacks on. "And they've specifically ordered a halt to anything one might do with one's hips for five weeks. I am going to be unfit for company," he waxes euphemistically, "After three more days of this. I missed you," he murmurs to Maddie as he wedges himself into the sofa's corner. "I am tired of seeing doctors and apologetic seneschals."
His left leg is very much still injured. It is kept completely straight and as motionless as possible, with both cast and brace. Behind his look of love, of attentiveness, and interest, there is a shadowed look of disappointment in his otherwise golden eyes. "So... tell me everything you did," he murmurs to Maddie, his hand reaching for her own.
Sabira lowers her wings, bringing her cup up for a sip. "Are you hungry? There are cakes and dates," she offers her brother. He is upset. But she offers only kindness, only affection.
She sighs as well for the kiss - and for its recession, looking wistful. No, it's not very likely that you'll be up to giving her the loving she so wants. "Five weeks?" Maddie is dismayed. She looks grouchy. "Well. We'll just have to - to improvise!"
She blushes, then, settling back and picking up her cup again, settling against the couch within your reach. "Sabira did lots more than I did," she tells you loyally. "But it's been great. Your sister-in-law planned it, really. She should get a lot of the credit."
I am disappointed, a voice insinuates itself where none can hear but you. It is cool and amused in its tone, but detached all the same. I see how quickly I am forgotten about. When our sister and your lady have departed, let me know. I am in my rooms.
Tanira, it seems, has returned...
His berried lips -- if only that coloration were the result of drinking from the Holly King's purple cup! -- twist in a plump smirk. "We will figure something out," he murmurs to Maddie, with a glance to his sister. That ends such talk of intimacy. He is frustrated enough as it is!
Resting back, giving his body to the sofa, Balthazar looks between you both. "Credit is due all around," he says softly, and for a moment he is rather kingly with his purple mouth and his outstretched form. If he were his true golden, caramel color, he would look like some dream of Eros. Balthazar rests his head upon one of many pillows his nainie rearranged. "I am very proud of both of you," he says. "You should go get something more to eat, change clothes so you do not get sick," since you are both muddy and wet. "I need to head into the other room for a moment." And he starts to move.
It is a slow process of many starts and stops. He doesn't feel self-conscious, but how hard it is. He would rather you both not know that.
Twisting, Balthazar leans to retrieve the golden crutches -- crutches suited for a prince, indeed -- his hand tugging briefly at his thighs to make a slight readjustment of the cotton.
Sabira looks at Maddie and then to her brother. She jerks up, standing quickly. "Do you want me to get those...?"
"No, no," Balthazar says quietly. "No, I have to help myself or I will get pissy," he smiles to her, a quick flash of golden eyes. I'm useless enough as it is...
Disappointed? The sweet-smelling summer wind finds you with its buzz of bees and nectar. I know the feeling. I am shooing them out as we speak. Who knew that going to the bathroom would be such an exercise in humility?
Crutches in his right hand, his leg bent and foot braced on the floor, Balthazar sits there a moment. He is poised to move, to start that swing of his stiff left leg, but now waits for the two delightful beauties to take their leave, and his hint, and to take a moment to recover from the agony of motion. "Another please," Balthazar requests -- his requests sounding more and more like commands -- as he crooks his finger to Maddie and leans in for a kiss. "I will be moving to the bed... I want to hold you for a while when you come back tonight. Don't let the Queen To Be hog all your time," he smiles, his mouth plucking at yours.
Smiling, Sabira smiles and rises. She gives the couple their privacy, stepping a few feet away and closer to the door.
She goes pink at the praise - how could she not? And she rises to her feet, biting her lip as she watches you go. "'Kay," Maddie says softly. "Love you..."
You aren't useless, and she knows it, and she knows you'll know it once you've had a chance to think about it. She can't argue adequately with a man who's limping away on crutches anyway, as her brother knows all too well. But when the command is given, she goes very pink, and darts forward to kiss you soundly. I miss you. And she parts when you are done to dart after Sabira.
"We'll be back," Maddie promises. "I'll try not to be too late."
When you are ready, then, brother. I am not far...
She does not intrude. She waits until you have regained dignity, if that is what is needed. Tanira's 'voice' is light and even, unruffled by any hint of the storms that have littered the horizon.
She does make him laugh. As the two brightly colored butterflies of doom zoom out the door, Balthazar exhales expletives as he swings over his stiff left leg and pushes himself to a quick stand and balance on the golden crutches. He stands there a moment before easing around his sofa and clickity-clacketying his way to the bath.
It is when it is quiet and still that he feels the sun and the stars whispering in his ears. There is starry breath at his neck, like the gentle breezes that stir at twilight. And that is what this is. It is the Twilight Hour for the Sun King.
Scarlet cotton piles to the floor beside the bed. He takes the side that will let his injured leg be at the edge. He turns down the covers, then hops naked, murmuring Farsi expletives, the crutches clattering against the bedside wall, and then with a grunt he hops into bed. Golden wings flap with his discomfort and the spread as he lies back and covers himself, leaving his injured leg mostly free of covering.
Come in whenever. The door is open. I'm in the bedroom. And, could you call some snacks? I'm supposed to ...conserve my energy.
Of course.
There is silence in the wake of her answer; nothing else need be said, and her arrival is as silent as Maddie and Sabira's was not. There is a carved wooden basket, in which rests food and drink covered with a golden cloth.
Her footsteps are soundless; when she appears in the doorway, you see her before you hear her. She is dressed in white, her dark hair braided and pinned atop her head, the jeweled veil obscuring but not entirely hiding her faint smile.
"Brother," Tanira greets you. "You have been busy."
Golden eyes glimmer in the slight roll. "Busy lying down. Yes. Very busy." Balthazar lies in a half sit, half recline, propped up on the pillows of his large bed. His golden hair, cut short and layered, is mussed from all he lying about. But bed-head is popular these days, is it not? His upper body, all that is visible of him, apart from his lazy golden wings, is uncovered, bruises marking him where cuts had been the day before. His mouth, full lipped on a normal day, is still slightly swollen and turned the color of purple berries. He would look like some spoiled love god, drunk on his own deliciousness, were it not for the cuts and the cast.
The sofa and chairs from his living room have been pulled in as well, and by all of the litter there you can tell he has spent most of his time on the sofa. "And where has my wiser sister been keeping herself?" he wonders quietly, his eyes trailing to the basket. "And what has she brought me for my convalescence into Boredom?" He makes sure his lower body is and remains covered as he shifts to sit up just a little. He goes pale in the motion, stilling, and then finally settling. "Do you have any news, gossip?"
"Poor thing." Tanira doesn't quite mock, but she does tease, lips curling in that slight smile, shadowy behind the veil. "I have brought you lamb meatballs spiced with mustard and mint, curried vegetables and fresh apricots, and naan from the marketplace in New Delhi. I hope that you can manage to pretend to be grateful."
She begins unpacking the basket onto your bedside table, dropping the covering cloth onto your cheek. The cool silk is slippery, sliding easily to spill like molten gold. It still holds the scents of the food it covered, along with some other scent, more distant, sweeter, harder to place.
"I have been in the other world, wandering up and down the earth, as angels and devils did in the time before God's lock and seal. Whether that makes me wise or foolish, I leave for you to decide. However, I returned when I heard the news, that my favourite little brother managed to injure himself."
Tanira fetches a chair and places it at your bedside, settling herself upon it. Her hands lift and undo the delicate fastenings of her veil, removing it so that her matchless features are revealed. With the same untouched serenity, she looks upon you. "You are a silly little brother; you should have called me. Why did you not?"
"O bless you, you are a saint," the words leave his lips in the effusive, colorful angelic dialect of his mother. It is as pure as birdsong, lyrical, the very birth of poetry. The silk falls on his cheek like a kiss and he smiles, sweeping it up to smell of it again like a rose and then he sets it on his other pillow. As you leave the wares to his care on the table, he dives into them with true gratitude and appreciation.
"Yesterday afternoon, I spent my time sort of in shock and then getting my leg braced. The rest of the time has been spent, primarily, in sleeping and groaning." He glances to his sister, smiling, "...things I was accused of doing before I hurt my leg. There has just not been time. I thought mama or one of the papas might have done so. Thank you thank you," he all but prays over the lamb meatballs as he takes the first bite of many.
Balthazar's golden eyes linger on you, his attention there. He listens as he eats. Sitting back after that burst of energy and hunger, he sighs, setting the bowl aside. His hands fold on the bed covers at his waist, his wings sliding against the marble and the bed as they draw in and then stretch. "I am sorry for not sending word sooner. So," he smiles a little with his bruised lips, "... I am silly? For what? For worrying you? For being upset that I will be lame for the coronation? What part, dearest Tanira?"
There is a bond between you, as electric as starlight, powerful as the engine of the sun itself. He notices it. It is not troubling, merely intense. "I am glad you are here..."
She lets you prose at her, the words washing over her and away, smiling that slight smile at you as she does so. "For not sending for my aid," Tanira answers you lightly. She rises, she bends and her lips brush yours in a dry, gentle kiss, and the tear vanishes with the passage of her lips to yours. The bruising does not; not entirely. But it is better; there is less tug when you smile, now, less of the dull ache.
She sits again, and she lays her hand on your damaged thigh. It is a warm touch, but careful and almost impersonal, save for the throb of that bond which she acknowledges without speaking of it. "I am glad that you are mostly in one piece," Tanira tells you placidly. "I am not yet powerful enough to help you regrow things which are lost."
And this is new, that she is able to do more than soothe, more than ease pain and act as living balm to strained nerves. Her words hint at more than she reveals. But when was Tanira other than such, with words? You are one of the few who can coax longer answers from her, but even with you, she delights in making you frame the questions for her answers. "You are muchly changed," she remarks. "And are you enjoying it, now?"
You draw away and he can feel the change. His tongue moves over his mouth and he looks to where your hand rests. The cast and brace on his leg are stiff, holding it immobile, protecting it against further injury. The break of his bone was relatively clean, as far as breaks go, but it was broken in two, his muscles battered there as well. "Mostly," he echoes softly. "My ribs are bruised. One is cracked. The leg was the worst of it. The citadel was bigger than I." He smiles a little, the bruise slightly softer in its discoloration. At least it looks, now, worse than it truly is.
"I did not know you could heal so well. You have always been able to make me feel better. To heal my spirit and my heart, even if you have to sometimes break it so it sets properly." As you did with Gillian. "Thank you, Tanira." Balthazar settles back, his thigh still warm. At least it is slightly numb from the attempt. It is a balm, if not a completely healing.
"I am enjoying it. I am a little disappointed that I am not able to enjoy it as much as I would like at the moment. But I am very fortunate in many ways. I do not take it for granted. I feel like it is the end of a season. I do not feel as... on fire as I was a few days ago. But my faith, my confidence, these are unshaken. I guess I am merely tired and frustrated."
"And you... how have you been in your travels? You are learning more and more and more. And yet... you never say a word of how or where. Will you tell your favorite little brother, though he is silly, how you have been?"
"I would not be able to do this so easily for others, but you are special." She says it with that same slight smile, echoing in her eyes. She is so filled with enigmas; she has so many secrets she wraps about herself, like so many more veils. "And I am more powerful than I was, though not yet powerful enough."
Powerful enough for what? She does not say. It is for you to ask or not to ask, as always. Her hand remains on your thigh, encouraging the flesh and bones beneath to knit, to mend, to ease. "You will heal in time for the coronation. I will see to it. But you will need to turn your mind to other things than what currently occupies your thoughts so highly; accept that about this, you can do nothing. Not until you are healed. And instead, choose something in which you have the power to affect matters."
Her advice is as calmly given as always. She is not cruel, but neither does she pull back out of fear of your reaction, hurt or otherwise. "It is the end of a season. Summer has ended. We are entering autumn, little brother. The stormy winds that blow are blowing crisp browned leaves past your window. Look and you will see them. It will be long months until spring, I fear."
Tanira lifts her other hand, gently smoothing your hair. "I have been in New York and in Cairo, in Paris and in London, in Munich and in Moscow. I have seen men and women look at me with envy and with pity, with anger and with lust. They have offered me much coin for my arts, and even more coin for the arts which they suspect I have but which I do not offer. And bit by bit, I am amassing great wealth. Our father has helped me, but even he cannot grant me what I seek. Some days I wonder if it is to be found there at all; but it must be, for I know full well that here it cannot be found, not for me. And so I sit upon my couch of silk at my loom, and I amass gold and spices to make of myself a Queen without compare."
She tells you quietly, in riddles and shadows, and yet, she tells you the truth. And as before, she leaves it to you to ask the right questions, if you will, if you dare.
"You are my Aurora," he says it, sighs it really, as he sits back, giving his body to the cushions, giving himself over to what he must accept, his wings splaying out widely to either side of him. "Is it because of our connection? Dawn to Sun? I have always followed you. I have not always known why." And he still does not have all the answers, but he feels the Truth.
"So, the winds are turning," he says as matter-of-factly as you do. "The season is changing. I will change too. Fire of summer, heat and laughter will turn to the fiery colors of the changing leaves, the flash of the hearth fire smoldering in the coals. The fragrant flames in lovers' bedrooms. The warmth found under warm furs and blankets." He smiles a blushed and bruised smile. "Right?"
So the fire of his wings is gone, but the feathers are dipped in gold, in some lights metallic, in others like golden leaves. He is not yet sure to what to turn his mind to, but it will come to him. He doesn't sit and fret as once he would. Balthazar turns his head to your hand, kissing your arm as you spin your tale and stroke his hair. Were you any other woman than his sister, Madison might have cause for concern.
"I will open my mind to God and listen to where I should turn this engine in the meantime. Do you have any suggestions of your own?" Golden eyes hold a smokiness to them, a richness of gems and spices. "How much more powerful do you wish to be?" he wonders softly, suddenly.
"Papa has talked a bit of your success. Let me simply say, I am not surprised by it or by those who would want to answer you. You're a living riddle."
"Even I do not have all answers." She smiles at you, holding herself aloof even here, even though you see more of her than any others. "Does there need to be a why known? It is as it is; I am content to let it be that way. It is for the best."
You smile and she sighs, looking to the darkened windows. "There is always room for Summer, even in the midst of Winter," Tanira agrees. "There will be those who call upon you, who remember you, when the nights are longest and the days hold no warmth. But it is the Winter King whose blessing is then bestowed, even if it then results in babes born under a Summer sky."
She tangles her fingers in your hair, lightly, gently, then withdraws. Her hand remains on your thigh, feeding you energy, powering the healing that is needed. "I think it is time that you built your temple. You have your Queen and High Priestess in mind already; and who better than a child of Fire to tend to the Sun King's braziers? You will want to impregnate her, of course."
Tanira says it casually and calmly, as if discussing the turn in the temperature outside. She knows you; she recognizes what you feel, and the need that fuels it. "I would recommend that before you see to weddings and funerals and babies, you should build your temple and your palace; build the seat where you will reside before you sit upon it. Since you ask me so nicely."
You ask her how powerful she wishes to be, and she goes silent, expression meditating and distant. Finally, though, she answers you, in her usual fashion, the voice of Scheherezade and the angel in one. "A poet could sway me, but not if he were a poet only. A warrior could win me, but if he had nothing to boast but conquest, he could not. A merchant could woo me with his gifts and his gold, but if all he offered were golden gifts, I would remain as stone. A man of faith could impress me with his devotion and his prayers, but if all he could do was pray, then he belongs to God, and I not to him. There is only one kind of man, then, who could have me to keep; and I know many such men, but they are forbidden to me. More, even, than the forbidding which our mother would lay upon me if she did know of my choices, for I have forbidden them to me, myself."
"I had been thinking of a place. But came to the conclusion that there wasn't one place that called me. My temple is the sun; it would be in constant motion." He smiles at that. Motion of one sort or another. "But... I am in the process of planning my citadel on one of the surrounding islands, if not this one. Ani is going to design it for me. My little fire maiden and I ...do need a place of our own." He does recognize that. "And I am going to formally ask her to marry me after the coronation, on the eve of it."
The thought and desire, and in fact need, for procreation is there, it is strong, and it moves him. He is not embarrassed by how much. You know. He is not ashamed of the reaction. Balthazar reaches down to adjust the covers and blankets, pulling them upward, nearly to his chest. "By the time the citadel of the sun is finished, it will be time to marry Madison and... begin our time in our home with a new family." That is some two years away, he knows.
But it cannot come soon enough for him...
His leg moves beneath your hand, beneath the cast and the brace. There is the ache there, but the ache is on many levels. I want her. I want her to reflect my light on the world like a mirror. I want to fill her full.
Balthazar brings himself to with a twitch of a wing and the tilt of his head. And a change of the subject. "And who are these men? Angels of heaven, surely. The Great Michael himself? A warrior and a songwriter," Balthazar points out with a smile. "Not that you need a man to make you powerful or complete. You do not, of course..."
She listens to you speak of your plans, your desires, your needs, and she does not mock you for it. She allows you to change the topic; her hand remains where it is, maintaining the connection, granting you her power in healing. "The archangels are not for the likes of you and me," Tanira murmurs, "we who are both and neither. I concede that one such as him could, perhaps, convince me, but I would seem as paper to one such as they."
She competently pours a glass of sparkling water for herself with her free hand, taking the bottle and two glasses from the depths of the basket. She pours for you as well, placing a glass within your reach. "No more than you need your lady to make you powerful or complete," Tanira mocks gently. "No, Balthazar. I want a King, and I cannot bring myself to settle for less. And so, to lure a King of suitable power and skill, I must make of myself a Queen to entice him. Let him be lured by my wealth and my power and my holdings, if he will not be lured by my beauty. And we shall see what happens. It is historically valid; look at Helen, at Cleopatra, at Elinor. I grant you that these are not the happiest of endings to use as comparisons, but I have hope for better for myself. And Kings are in short supply, brother. Shorter still, if I require they not be my father, my brothers, my uncles, my grandfather."
Balthazar exhales an apology. "I did not mean to be insensitive, sister. But... you are right. Kings are not like apples, hanging around waiting to be picked. At least, if you are talking about another family tree." He reaches for the glass of water, his spirit bolstered by your touch, your energy. His thigh is warm, like there is focused sunlight there where the bone is broken. His energy and his attention focus there.
"You are the most alluring creature that I know," he murmurs. "And you will call him to you, the one who is worthy of you. I will hold that in my heart and mind. A mantra for you. I want nothing more or less than for you to be happy and fulfilled and to have someone who is worthy of you, your time and your attention."
Sipping of the clear water, Balthazar sets his glass aside. He reaches for your free hand... once it is free again. "You have always been there for me," he murmurs, "... and I am always here for you, Tanira." He lifts your hand to his mouth. "Always.."
She smiles to you, without offense taken or offered. "If he is out there," Tanira agrees. "But there is no guarantee that he is. And so I have my work. And when my work is less pressing, there is still my family."
You take her hand, and she smiles at you gently. "I know. It is a hard lesson for you, that sometimes we are powerless for those we love," Tanira murmurs. Gently, she squeezes your hand where you hold hers. "If things were different, perhaps... but I do not know what I could ask of you."
"You, who have so many questions and answers? I cannot believe that you are speechless." Balthazar teases you in kind, holding your hand to give you comfort, even as your other hand gives the same to him. "When you think of it, all you have to do is ask."
With a last kiss of your knuckles, he sets your hands free, his arm falling to rest at the pool of fabric at his stomach. "I feel like I could march down the hall. I know it is just bravado and magic," he smiles. "So... I should concentrate on focusing my energy to mend myself, not on thinking about the things I cannot do," he summarizes, "...and perhaps dream a bit of my future citadel and temple, and accept that things are changing again but know that I will be okay on either side of the horizon. Have I heard your advice correctly, wise and beautiful sister?"
He closes his eyes a moment, drawing your energy from your fingertips, past his cast and brace. He holds it, sweet smelling like the silk that fell as a kiss upon his cheek. When Balthazar opens his eyes, the golden color has deepened to a rich amber. Summer is over.
"Speechless? No. But there are things to choose and things not to choose, little brother." Tanira smiles affectionately, resting her hand atop your head. Sleep. Dream of things that you should. Leave the forbidden dreams to the kingdom of Holly, until such time as there is no other choice.
There is warmth at her fingertips, radiating and sinking deep into your bones. What she has, she gives freely to you, rising to her feet only slowly. "You have heard me correctly," she says softly. "Sleep, little brother. Sleep, and dream..."
She draws her hands away slowly, straightening as she turns. She goes as silently as she came, leaving in her wake the wild floral and spice notes of her passage. What had been a break is much mended, now, only a fracture. The doctors will be left to wonder, for she offers them no more explanations than she has offered you, and rather less, at that.
Dream...
Posted by rowan at November 02, 2009 08:16 PM
