It was quiet here, in a way that was different from the stillness of home. There were no secrets, Katrie realized, no sidelong glances, no backdoor dealings, nothing that poisoned and haunted the peace like a dagger in the dark. A not-so-distant memory stirred, drawing her inward, her focus consumed by the remarkably clear recollection that demanded her complete attention. She could still remember the way the tabac smoke smelled as it curled around Papa's head, on a quiet night much like this one. Vaporous tendrils of misty grey, undulating from the ivory-and-wood pipe in long thin arms that drifted slowly towards the ceiling. It was Two River's Tabac that she smelled, the finest that coin could buy...
- - - - -
“You wanted to see me, Papa?” As Katrie pushed open the heavy door to his private study, a cloud of sweetly scented smoke billowed out past her. She leaned into the well lit room, her arms stretching out behind her as she used the door handle as an anchor point. Unabashed curiosity brightened the already lively depths of dark eyes.
Lord Fenton Riatin was a man well into his middle years, a man that both Time and the Pattern seemed to treat with great respect. Reserved and composed, imposing and proud, this was a man accustomed to command and power – who bore all of it, and his age, with grace and dignity. His rare smile came as he caught sight of her, sitting a little uneasily on his face. The ribbon of tabac smoke shifted wildly as he waved her over. “Katrie! Come, dear girl, come.”
She shut the door quietly without having to be asked, locking it. She slid the decorative piece of brass back over the keyhole, her fingertips tracing over the intricate engraving. It was a little sad that something so pretty had to serve as protection against things that were decidedly not as pretty – or pleasant – prying eyes and poison powder being two of the most obvious things. Katrie tried not to think about poison as she'd touched the surface of the ornamental brass and instead went to to stand in front of her papa. She clasped her hands behind her back and gave a little bounce onto her toes.
He chuckled then, his expression one of fondness. He was not a demonstrative man beyond the doors of his private residences, but when it was just her and Mama, he allowed his affection free rein. “I can see why you have most of the caravan and its guards hot beneath their collars.”
The smile that split her face was wide and not at all apologetic. “It's just some fun, Papa.”
The line of his shoulders relaxed and he nodded slowly at her. He brought her attention down to his desk, indicating the small inlaid box that sat next to the hand not holding the ivory-and-wood pipe. “Open it,” was all he said.
Impatience and eagerness warred within as she reached across the desk. The lid flipped open easily and Katrie took a moment to admire the black velvet lined interior. There was a neat square of vellum nestled in the bottom crease of velvet. She glanced up at her papa, the unasked question bright in her eyes.
“Read it.”
She unfolded the note and saw that something had been written in his neat, precise hand.
- I do not believe in jealousy.
“That has been the secret to all of my successes.” A poignant pause. “Do you understand?”
She was silent for long minutes as she mulled over the phrase in her mind, turning it over to examine and prod. “I think so Papa,” Katrie replied slowly, carefully tasting this new yet oddly familiar concept. “Jealousy is a waste of energy. It's an emotion that doesn't help anything. It...” Katrie frowned, trying to find the right words. “It... only complicates things that are, at their core, easy and simple...” That was expressed badly, Katrie struggling to properly articulate it. It frustrated her. She knew what she meant. She just couldn't get it out.
“Precisely.” That didn't seem to matter to him. He knew she understood. “Either both people understand what they are getting out of the relationship or they do not. And I do not mean merely romantic ones. In all things, dealings between two people or interested parties, jealousy serves no purpose. I want you to remember that.”
She nodded enthusiastically, fascinated at this rare glimpse into the inner workings of her papa's mind. “I will.” Her smile was one of delight, and this time, Papa smiled back.
“Now come, enough of this.” He stood abruptly, brushing at the panels of the long, silken coat that fell to his knees He moved to a nearby settee and sat, patting the spot next to him. “Has it become any easier to ignore the temptation to use... what does your mother call it... say-dar?” he pronounced it as if it were something unpleasant. And to him, it must be, to bring such pain to his wife and to have his favourite child cursed with the same ability. “Tell me what you did today.”
- - - - -
I don't believe in jealousy. Either both people understand what they're getting out of the relationship or they don't. Jealousy serves no purpose. *
- - - - -
Katrie smiled when the telltale sound of soft, chiming bells reached her ears. “You should be resting,” she said softly, addressing the entirety of the room as memory left her and reality reasserted itself. It was as if her papa had merely illuminated something she'd always felt but did not know how to say. The scent of tabac smoke faded away, and a much different musk tickled at her nose.
She didn't turn to face her Arafellin lover, trailing a teasing fingertip along the tendon that ran along his inner thigh instead. She grinned as she felt him quaver in response.
“And you should stop fussing,” came the answering rumble, his deep voice still thick with sleep. Moments later, calloused hands pushed lightly down on her shoulders. She allowed herself to be drawn back against him, her cheek resting against the slope of his neck. Long, slender fingers reached towards the musical chiming, glossy black hair slipping between her caressing hands. The bells twined to the ends of his braids were a point of ceaseless fascination for her.
“You can't be late tomorrow,” she reminded him, pressing a kiss against the side of his throat. “The caravan leaves at dawn.”
The muscled body she was leaning against tensed and it took him a heartbeat too long to answer. “I won't be.” She had upset him again.
Katrie sighed quietly. “You know it has to end this way.”
“... I know.”
But he still didn't. And that was dangerous. She shouldn't have come here tonight. She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself as she turned to face him. The braid thudded down against his collarbone, slipping wildly to the side, before disappearing behind one of his shoulders. The bells jangled loudly for a moment.
“Why are you complicating things?” she asked sharply. Dark eyes were steady as she tried to impress upon him the way things simply were. “I... would be really upset... if something happened to you because you decided not to exercise good... discretion.”
He was roughly a decade older than her, handsome and fit enough to be considered a right prize. He worked as a caravan guard under her papa's employ – and there were dozens more like him, ripe for her choosing. He was experienced enough to be bored and unhappy with the life he had thought he wanted. It was the same old story, but this was the first time she'd ever encountered someone who was willing to facilitate action to change his circumstances. Admirable. Only... he wanted the impossibility of more. With her. Her mistake had been assuming that he was smart enough to keep things simple between them.
“You can't even say my name.” Pain made him cruel. “I thought you were a nice girl. Nice girls don't make threats.” He glowered at her like it actually was supposed to mean something.
Her stare was icy. “You know they're not my threats.” She paused in the hope that it would sink through his thick skull. Katrie couldn't believe that they were having this conversation again. “ And if you wanted a 'nice girl',” her lips twisted as she mimicked him, “you should have stayed with your wife all those nights, Jakobe.”
He flinched, deflating, broken and hurting. “How can you be so calm about this?” he demanded instead, adopting another angle from which to attack from. “Aren't you even the least bit angry? Aren't you the least bit jealous of her?”
Katrie barely kept herself from snorting out loud, but otherwise didn't let herself be baited. “No and no.”
“How can you not be?”
“Because I don't believe in jealousy,” she answered simply. “It serves no purpose. And what's there to get angry over? I've been honest with you from the beginning. I take what pleasure I can, where I can, when I can. You were more than willing to go along then. There's never been the promise of anything more than that.”
He turned away from her, his body heaving. That had clearly not been what he had wanted to hear. The sound of fabric tearing reached her ears. “You should go home, my lady.” Deathly quiet. Raw. Numb.
A crippling moment of silence passed. “As you like.” She was far less conflicted. Katrie picked herself up off the bed, dressing quickly. Deft fingers forced tangled hair back into some semblance of order. She pulled the long cloak around her, drawing the deep hood up over her face. “Please,” for your sake, “don't be late tomorrow.” It was barely a whisper. He ignored her. Katrie allowed herself one last, lingering look at the beauty of the banked coals then turned on her heel and left.
* * * * * The week ended in much the same way as it had begun. The Creator had a very twisted sense of humour, it seemed. It was another bedroom she found herself standing in that didn't belong to her. This one was as far away from the quaint coziness of The Wayfarer as Arad Doman was to the Aiel Waste. Diaphanous, billowing silk floated from ceiling to floor, sectioning off parts of the enormous area. Lights crafted from faceted crystal hung in precise intervals between the silks, the entire aim designed to draw attention to the monstrosity of a bed that was the crowing jewel of the collection, resplendent with heavy gold and silver brocade that served as canopy drapings and bed curtains. She never had figured out what the bed had been carved out of, but she's always been afraid to touch it... What if she left behind dust or dirt or fingerprints...?
“Mama, it's me.” Katrie's voice was perfectly modulated, gentle, with just a touch of pleading. She hovered just beyond her mama's reach at the head of the bed, holding a cup of steaming tea laced with strong... medicinal herbs... between her hands. The ceramic was hot, almost to the point of burning, but she didn't acknowledge it.
Silence.
“Mama.” Louder this time. “It's Reen. You need to get up. And you need to drink this.”
It was one of her mama's bad days.
A muffled sound, the words hopelessly garbled as the vaguely human-like mass beneath the blankets shifted.
“Yes,” Katrie responded reflexively, knowing exactly how this dance played out and what steps came next. “I'm here. You have to get up now and drink this. It'll help you feel better, and then after you tidy up, you can join Papa and I later for a meal.” She left out which meal exactly. Mama didn't do well with time when she was like this.
The creature that emerged was a disheveled, unkempt thing, only recognizable as her mama by the striking emerald green of clouded eyes peering out from a pouting face. The young Cairhienin felt an old stab of envy – how she wished she had eyes like her mama's! – but the Kandori blood of a doting, smothering grandmother that had graced her mama with such a feature had not carried through onto Katrie.
“Reen?”
Despite wanting to scream out her frustration, she couldn't help but smile slightly at the way her mama never once forgot who she was. “Yes Mama, it's me.” Katrie said softly as she sat down on the bed, bringing the cup with her. “You have to drink this.”
Her petite Domani mama made a face, the small button of a nose wrinkling. “I don't want to.”
The petulant tone was familiar, as was Katrie's neat reply. “I know.” Patience. She had to be patient. She held the cup out. “But you have to.”
Dull green eyes glowered sullenly at the white ceramic.
“It'll help,” Katrie coaxed, inching the cup towards dry, chapped lips.
“Alright.” As her mama reluctantly took the cup into her own trembling hands and drank, Katrie felt the knotted fist of tension in her gut ease, soothing away some of the ache that choked her heart.
Suddenly, she couldn't bear to be there one second longer. “I'll send in someone to help you bathe. I love you.” She pressed a kiss against her mama's hairline and bolted out of the room, sagging against the nearest wall. Breathe. She just had to keep breathing. Taking those few minutes to compose herself, Katrie decided to wait for the dinner summons in the gardens.
A page found her in her favourite spot by the swan fountain some time later, delivering into her hands a small inlaid box from her papa. Katrie smiled despite herself. She would recognize that box anywhere. Curious as to what was inside – another secret of his maybe? – she flipped open the lid.
A strangled gasp sounded, the young woman unable to completely mask her reaction. A pair of beautiful bells sat nestled deeply in black velvet. Katrie exhaled quietly, feeling a small piece of her break. Stupid, stubborn man. She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head sadly.
“My lady?” The page spoke nervously. “Your lord father said only that we were to do whatever you instructed in this matter.”
Katrie could only nod her mute understanding. Jakobe, you should've left at dawn with everyone else...
“Have these sent back to his wife,” she finally told the anxious hovering page, shutting the lid before passing the box that suddenly seemed so much heavier, back. “Papa told me about some of his dealings with... well.” She felt so very tired all of a sudden. “Tell the wife that the contract between her husband and House Riatin is still in good standing. Both it and the promised hazard pay will be delivered before the next new moon.”
* taken from Moebius: Empire Rising
