remember you, Issari. I will never forget your starlit hands upon me,
the love in your eyes. You told me that a great battle awaits me. I will live and
fight on, my lady of starlight.
Splashing sounded in
the water beside him, and Vale's eyes snapped open. He started and his heart thrashed.
He found himself wincing, expecting the lash of a whip, a habit he didn't know
if he'd ever shake. But it was only Tash wading into the water beside him,
naked as the day she'd been born, aside from the jewel in her navel.
"Tash!" he whispered,
looking away.
She splashed him. "Join
me, Vale! Off with your clothes. It's time for a morning bath."
He glanced at her, then
quickly looked away, the sight of her naked body seared onto his memory. He was
about to reproach her, even grab her cloak and cover her up, when another
splash—this one softer—sounded below him.
He looked down and his
eyes widened.
A fish.
Vale lifted his spear.
The fish lazily swam
between the reeds and rushes, fat and sluggish.
Vale thrust down the
spear, piercing it.
"Got you!" He lifted
his prize from the water, already salivating. "Tash! Hurry up and wash
yourself. We've got breakfast. I'll see if I can catch another."
She stuck out her
tongue, the water now blessedly up to her shoulders. "See if there are any
pears baked in honey and wine down there, will you? Maybe some almond and
butter cakes too."
He scoffed. "It's fish
and some algae if you can stomach it. Better than what we ate in Tofet. You
house slaves went soft."
He expected her to roll
her eyes, to splash him again, maybe to make a joke, but instead anger filled
Tash's eyes. She waded toward him in the water.
"Don't you tell me that
I'm soft." She glared, her eyes red. "You don't know what I've had to endure."
"What?" He matched her
glare. "Did you endure firewhips against your back? Yokes that crushed your
shoulders? Eighteen hours of labor a day, carving bricks and hauling tar in the
blinding sun? Or did you just have to suffer baked apples sometimes instead of
honeyed pears?"
Her eyes dampened, but
then her rage seared the tears dry. "I had to live through things you cannot
even imagine. I was thirteen when I was tossed into the pleasure pits. You
suffered the whip; I suffered the lust of the seraphim. I would have chosen the
whip a thousand times over what they did to me, to a mere child." Her voice
shook. "For years, I sank into a deep hole. For years, I smoked the hintan,
lost in a stupor, barely alive, a giggling, drooling, vapid thing, mere meat, semiconscious,
as the seraphim masters had their ways with me. But I crawled out of that pit.
I shoved the comfort of hintan aside, and I learned to accept pain, because
pain gives me clarity, pain gives me strength. So yes, Vale of Tofet. I ate
honeyed pears instead of gruel, and I wore anklets of gold instead of shackles
of iron. And I suffered more pain than I can remember without dying inside."
The fish flapped on his
spear, and Vale felt his anger wan. Why was he so mad at the woman? Tash had
been kind to Elory, protecting her in the pleasure pit. She had saved Meliora
from the dungeon. She had fought bravely against the seraphim during their
escape from Tofet, and she sought the Chest of Plenty not for personal gain but
to duplicate the Keeper's Key and bring Requiem hope. Why had he spent the past
night and day mad at her? Was it because of her body—and by the stars, she was
naked now in the water, only inches away—that intoxicated him? Was it because
she awakened something deep inside him, something frightening, something that
was all soft warmth and joy, unlike anything he had ever felt, anything he
thought he deserved?
He nodded. "Let's eat
breakfast. I'll catch you a fish too. I promise it'll be tasty."
She nodded, her face
calming. She stepped out from the river and pulled on her cloak, then paused.
She stared down,
frozen.
"Tash?" Vale said. "Are
you all right?"
She spun back toward
him, eyes wide. "I found something.
the love in your eyes. You told me that a great battle awaits me. I will live and
fight on, my lady of starlight.
Splashing sounded in
the water beside him, and Vale's eyes snapped open. He started and his heart thrashed.
He found himself wincing, expecting the lash of a whip, a habit he didn't know
if he'd ever shake. But it was only Tash wading into the water beside him,
naked as the day she'd been born, aside from the jewel in her navel.
"Tash!" he whispered,
looking away.
She splashed him. "Join
me, Vale! Off with your clothes. It's time for a morning bath."
He glanced at her, then
quickly looked away, the sight of her naked body seared onto his memory. He was
about to reproach her, even grab her cloak and cover her up, when another
splash—this one softer—sounded below him.
He looked down and his
eyes widened.
A fish.
Vale lifted his spear.
The fish lazily swam
between the reeds and rushes, fat and sluggish.
Vale thrust down the
spear, piercing it.
"Got you!" He lifted
his prize from the water, already salivating. "Tash! Hurry up and wash
yourself. We've got breakfast. I'll see if I can catch another."
She stuck out her
tongue, the water now blessedly up to her shoulders. "See if there are any
pears baked in honey and wine down there, will you? Maybe some almond and
butter cakes too."
He scoffed. "It's fish
and some algae if you can stomach it. Better than what we ate in Tofet. You
house slaves went soft."
He expected her to roll
her eyes, to splash him again, maybe to make a joke, but instead anger filled
Tash's eyes. She waded toward him in the water.
"Don't you tell me that
I'm soft." She glared, her eyes red. "You don't know what I've had to endure."
"What?" He matched her
glare. "Did you endure firewhips against your back? Yokes that crushed your
shoulders? Eighteen hours of labor a day, carving bricks and hauling tar in the
blinding sun? Or did you just have to suffer baked apples sometimes instead of
honeyed pears?"
Her eyes dampened, but
then her rage seared the tears dry. "I had to live through things you cannot
even imagine. I was thirteen when I was tossed into the pleasure pits. You
suffered the whip; I suffered the lust of the seraphim. I would have chosen the
whip a thousand times over what they did to me, to a mere child." Her voice
shook. "For years, I sank into a deep hole. For years, I smoked the hintan,
lost in a stupor, barely alive, a giggling, drooling, vapid thing, mere meat, semiconscious,
as the seraphim masters had their ways with me. But I crawled out of that pit.
I shoved the comfort of hintan aside, and I learned to accept pain, because
pain gives me clarity, pain gives me strength. So yes, Vale of Tofet. I ate
honeyed pears instead of gruel, and I wore anklets of gold instead of shackles
of iron. And I suffered more pain than I can remember without dying inside."
The fish flapped on his
spear, and Vale felt his anger wan. Why was he so mad at the woman? Tash had
been kind to Elory, protecting her in the pleasure pit. She had saved Meliora
from the dungeon. She had fought bravely against the seraphim during their
escape from Tofet, and she sought the Chest of Plenty not for personal gain but
to duplicate the Keeper's Key and bring Requiem hope. Why had he spent the past
night and day mad at her? Was it because of her body—and by the stars, she was
naked now in the water, only inches away—that intoxicated him? Was it because
she awakened something deep inside him, something frightening, something that
was all soft warmth and joy, unlike anything he had ever felt, anything he
thought he deserved?
He nodded. "Let's eat
breakfast. I'll catch you a fish too. I promise it'll be tasty."
She nodded, her face
calming. She stepped out from the river and pulled on her cloak, then paused.
She stared down,
frozen.
"Tash?" Vale said. "Are
you all right?"
She spun back toward
him, eyes wide. "I found something.
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