In the Shadows of Dragons, part 4: Secrets, Lies, and Everything In Between
With leg cramping and heavy breathing, Nishal collapsed back into his sickbed. One circuit of the infirmary was quite enough to leave him physically exhausted and frustrated, but he did see that his left leg was getting stronger. However, he didn't believe that he would ever be able to walk again without dragging it, though he had something to try. Not so hopeful was his left arm. No matter what he tried, his hand stayed clawed against his chest, elbow bent. The muscles simply refused to cooperate. It was the right, then, that he used to wordlessly shove away the miraculously strong servant girl when she tried to cover his thin, sweating frame with a blanket. She bowed her head and made her way out, but not before opening the window next to him. Perhaps, Nishal thought, the girl did have a brain.
Closing his eyes, Nishal calmed his breathing and searched for the blessedness of sleep. Sleep meant no pain, no cramping, but such things also kept it from him. Nor did the heat help. He loosened the belt on his robes to try to catch some of the scant breeze on his skin. For a bit, there wasn't much relief, but slowly, the breeze picked up. He was floating on the edge of unconsciousness when he realized the bulk of the soft breeze was coming from the wrong side. A small, tired smile crossed his face and he opened his eyes again, and found himself looking into Layli's face. Her fingers were dancing about a foot above his body, stirring the air to cool him. She smiled back at him. “Sleep, if you need. Don't mind me.”
Nishal made a move to pull his robe back over himself and sit up. “Quite impossible, really.”
Layli chuckled softly. “Oh, come now, it's nothing I haven't seen.” As if to prove a point, she took a good long look at him. “Though I say you've gotten thin. I will see that you're fed more.” She made no reference to Timri or the conversation, and Nishal was grateful for that. He was even more grateful that she seemed his same old Layli. He also had no illusions as to why he'd gotten so much attention from those that staffed the infirmary in the last two days.
“You are much too good to me,” Nishal responded, with real warmth.
“Nonsense.” She brushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead with soft fingertips. “I'm told you're surprising everyone, and you're working very hard to recover.” She dropped her voice to a soft purr. “Perhaps I should reward you, yes?”
Nishal blinked. “Maybe later. I'm quite…” He cut off with a groan. Layli was hearing no protest. Suddenly, the cramps in Nishal's leg seemed much less all of a sudden. It occurred to him briefly that perhaps she was feeling lonely, but he didn't really care, especially when she hiked up her silver-gray silks and carefully straddled his hips.
Nishal had no choice but to let Layli do what she wished, and whatever she did, it sent sparks through him, making him feel more alive than he had since the night on the roof. He sucked his lower lip in to cut all sound to a whimper, conscious of the fact that anyone could walk in at any time. She ran her tongue along his jawline to his ear and whispered, breathlessly, “I am going to miss you terribly when you leave.” He could only whimper in response.
“CAW!” Both Nishal and Layli jumped at the noise and turned their head toward the window as one. They had an audience of one giant black bird. It cried again, and Nishal thought that its oddly intelligent eyes were studying Layli as if trying to make some sort of decision.
“I have seen this bird before. I wonder why it's here?” Nishal mused, softly. “It has odd timing, I think.”
“This is no bird.” Nishal blinked up at Layli, who was studying the bird right back with drawn brows. “Speak, spirit.”
“CAAAAAAWWWWWW!” The great black stormcrow lifted from the sill, feathers ruffled, and Layli gasped.
“Nishal, your parents are here!” She scrambled off of him, straightening her silks.
Fumbling one handed with the ties of his robe, Nishal asked, “But what did it say?”
“That I do not command it.” Layli raked her fingers through her pale mane. “But I get the feeling…” She waved her hand. “Later.”
Fear belatedly seized Nishal's stomach and he wildly grabbed out for his old friend. Inwardly, he cursed himself for this, but he did it anyway. “Don't leave.”
Layli took his hand in hers and smiled softly. “Don't worry, I won't let them harm you if I can stop it.” Her look turned puzzled as she shot a glance at the place the bird vacated. “And I don't think it will either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Later.” She kissed his fingers and went to the other side of the room, making herself unnoticeable.
Nishal's heart beat hard for what felt like an eternity, yet he managed to prop himself up and put on what he hoped was a calm demeanor. Finally, the infirmary door opened. Tulia stalked in, alone, pale face full of venom and every ounce directed toward Nishal. The dust on her travel clothes spoke that she'd hurried, and her hair was wild. She obviously did not see Layli.
“Where's Father?” Nishal winced even as he blurted out the question. It showed Tulia he was afraid of her. Nishal struggled to pull himself together. He was far too out of practice in dealing with his mother.
“Getting Timri's belongings and making arrangements.” Nishal gathered some strength from the fact that his mother's voice broke, though a voice in his head told him that emotion would make her dangerous. “I wanted a word with you alone.” Tulia closed in on the bed and towered over it, wind ruffling Nishal's sheets in her rage.
“I'm touched,” Nishal returned, dryly.
“What did you do to her?” Tulia spat. “How did you do it?”
Nishal blinked a couple of times. “Really, now. I believe I was just past fever dreams, and I can't recall wasting a single one on Timri. Do you really think I came to, dragged myself over to her dormitory with one arm and one leg, broke in, overpowered her and threw her off a roof? You're not being rational, Mother.”
“My only child is dead.” Nishal narrowed his blue eyes as Tulia bent down over him. “You're not worth half of what she was. And now look at you, broken and useless. I should have kept the pillow and left you with your slave whore mother. I can't believe I gave you my name.”
“What?” Nishal hissed the word in shock, but something in the back of his head started turning. He couldn't finger it just then, but he knew Tulia had just made a mistake.
“Now, what did you do to my child? I know you have friends. I know how you think. Perhaps you convinced your little sorcerer-spawn pet that I'd let you live if Timri was gone. ” Tulia planted both hands on either side of Nishal's head.
Whatever else Tulia might have said was cut short by the sound of a clearing throat. Tulia snapped her head around and Nishal let out a breath. Layli was pure ice as she glided back over, spine straight and chin slightly raised. Despite age and practice, Nishal wouldn't have given half a spit for Tulia's life at that moment if Layli decided to lash out. “I will assume, my lady Tulia, that you speak out of grief and therefore will take no offense for myself or Nishal,” she said, smoothly, every inch a daughter of the Dynasty even at fifteen. “And I will pretend I heard nothing. However, I do suggest you say nothing further that you may regret. Grandmother does not take insult lightly, and neither do I.” Nishal didn't think he could have loved her any more than he did at that moment.
Tulia's rage, however, was such that she did not take the out she was given. “Your grandmother should be ashamed of you. Why do you waste yourself? Surely this creature can't bed you that well.”
Nishal recognized the look on Layli's face and felt his own smirk forming. “I wouldn't know,” Layli began, shrugging languidly, “I've never had him in a bed.”
“Not true.” Nishal drawled at last, drawing on Layli's insolent tone. “What were we doing before my lady mother…I mean, Tulia…came in?” He didn't even have time to consider that provoking Tulia might not have been smart before the woman's grip clasped around his throat.
Everything happened in the brief instant before Tulia had time to squeeze. Nishal futilely gasped for a breath, aware that Layli had raised her hands and started muttering. He put his hand on Tulia's wrist. And then the bird was on her. Taking a breath of sweet air, Nishal coughed it out, watching Tulia fall back, arms trying to protect her face from the stormcrow spirit. In turn, it attacked with beak and claw relentlessly. Layli came to his side and started muttering softly, a different speech than before. “Dragon of air, lend me your scale…”
“Now you sic it on me!” Tulia screamed out as a talon raked her cheek.
“STOP!” Another voice entered the fray. Still gasping for air and rubbing at his bruised throat, Nishal saw the slender, muscled form of his father charge into the room. He didn't go for his sword, however, just struggled to interpose himself between the spirit and Tulia. “I keep the promise.”
The bird backed off as Layli's arching shield of air glimmered into place around Tepet Tulia and Cathak Bertram. Cawing loudly, it gave Bertram a baleful look. “You have failed once. Do not do so again.” Layli translated, softly. Yet the bird did leave, swooping out of the window with a great whoosh of its wings.
“Bertram!” Tulia whined. “Did you see that? That's how your son…”
“Shut up, woman, and leave us.” Tulia's petulant mouth opened and snapped shut with pure outrage. “I'll speak with you later. And for the sake of all sacred, get hold of yourself in the meantime.”
Tulia finally seemed to halfway pull herself together. “Forgive me,” she said, sounding almost sincere. “These are trying times, and I lost myself.” She left in such a way as to make people believe it was her own idea. Layli let the spell drop.
Cathak Bertram then took a chair near Nishal's sickbed. Dropped into it really, looking old and tired despite not having a single hint of gray in his raven hair. His slender body was the very image of physical perfection, lean and well muscled, save for the fact that his right arm ended right above where his elbow should be. Nishal studied his father, testing his throat by swallowing before even thinking about speaking. Bertram beat him to the first words, however, directing a much softer voice toward Layli. “I'm afraid you've been caught up in things that should never have been your business, and I'm sorry for that. You are Ledaal Layli, yes?”
Nodding, she said, almost faintly, looking pensive. “Nishal has long been a loyal friend, and I owe him my friendship in return. I will do what I can to help him and his f…blood. There is nothing to forgive, and nothing that I will hear or have heard, honored one.”
Bertram let out a breath and gave her a tired smile. “Thank you.”
“I'll go, then, and make sure you are not disturbed.” And Layli glided out of the room.
“Father, ” Nishal said, hoarsely. His mind had been spinning the whole time, trying to make sense of the whole strange scene. “What was that thing?”
Bertram sighed and rubbed his forehead. “The simple answer is that that is the creature that took my arm. I dare not say more than that.”
“I thought you lost it on a Wyld Hunt.”
“I did.”
“Layli said it was protecting me.” Nishal tried to recall every story he heard about the hunt. None were ever from his father. Tulia had been a horrible, hulking presence in his life, but his father was a stranger, often absent.
“It probably was, though I thought not to see it again. Something must have happened.” Bertram sighed deeply and leaned back.
Nishal took a leap. “Does this have to do with my mother…my birth mother?”
Bertram squinted his dark eyes at his son. “She told you, did she?” He shook his head and waved his hand a bit. “I guess there's no putting that wine back in the jug. You are far too clever for your own good, you know that don't you?”
“So why don't you tell me, then?” Nishal swallowed a few more times, throat still sore from Tulia's gifted strength.
So Bertram began his tale, and as his father spoke, the pieces started falling into place. And finally, Nishal remembered something he promised he'd never forget, the raven-haired baby. His own blood sibling.