moonshadows

Joshua does a double-take upon entering his Lord’s office and seeing his niece standing quietly in the corner. It was one thing to know, objectively, that she has been joining their master during his morning appointments; actually seeing her there looking as blankly obedient as his guards is quite another.

“Does it bother you?” The amused look on his face does little to reassure.

“Ah…no, my Lord. I’m just surprised by how…official she looks.” Joshua lays the thick folder on the desk and takes his seat.

He tilts his head slightly, weighing the smaller man’s words. “You, who know her best, see her as being ‘official’?”

“Yes,” Joshua says slowly, unsure of where this is going.

“Excellent. I want her presence to be unquestioned in any situation; an extension of my position, like the guards.”

“Well, she does that very well.”

“Good. You have the information I requested?”

Joshua flips the folder open and leafs through a few pages. “Some of it; the rest will take time. The delta region didn’t see much action in the war, so there’s more rumor than first-hand account. So far, according to popular belief, a demon will have horns and fangs, blazing eyes – although the color varies widely – and possibly a tail but it may be hidden. A demon will be able to summon fire at will and can’t be killed without heavy munitions. A demon’s blood will be dangerous, although again, exactly what the danger is depends on who you ask. There’s a rather vague reference to demons being able to ‘see into the hearts of men’.” He puts the last paper down. “That’s all I’ve got so far.”

There’s an expectant pause.

“You wish to know why I have interrupted your work so suddenly for this.”

“It had crossed my mind, my Lord.”

“My goal is to take the delta region as peacefully as possible. I anticipate making a visit to its capital, and do not relish the idea of going in uninformed. Belief is a very powerful tool; I would have it work for me rather than against.”

“…and if you can tap into the public’s fear of demons…I see. I’ll focus on that, as well as appearance. You’ll probably have to arrange a demonstration to prove that she really is a demon.” Joshua grins sheepishly. “We worked very hard to find a mostly-human shape that didn’t make people uncomfortable with her.”

Manicured fingers flick dismissively. “Such things can be arranged. Before we touch base on the rest, I want to make sure there will be no problems next week.”

Joshua stifles a grin. “None whatsoever, my Lord. There may be some histrionics, but Tessa and I can both vouch that she doesn’t mean a word of it. Just don’t let her get to you.”

He frowns absently. Melodramatics are not something he is accustomed to. “I see. Now then, tell me what progress you’ve made on the…”

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After almost an entire week, she has come to the conclusion that there’s no way she can try to fix the broken bits while he’s meeting with whoever it happens to be at the time. To try would only injure him, and that’s absolutely out of the question. Instead, she’s been spending the morning hours in the artistic visualization, soaking chips of stone in sparking….stuff…and spraying shimmering lilac whatever-it-is on what she has come to call the Moss Of Devouring Doom. It’s a lot more fun than just scrubbing at the stains on the statues, and far more rewarding to see patches of almost-clean stone open up when the moss has finished writhing and the last withered bits have been wiped away. The naggingly-familiar statue has been entirely freed from the malignant moss, and the almost-clean patches shine in sickly-pale glory against the rest of the stone’s discoloration.

The sense of responsibility, in its shape as the wounded boy, helps her sometimes. He never talks, and he’s not interested in following directions, but he shyly offers her chips of sullied stone for the bucket and fishes out the clean ones. She’s not sure what he does with them; he just darts off and is out of sight before she can start to follow. Wherever he puts them or whatever he does with them, she has to trust that it’s not going to cause any more damage.

Idly, she fishes out a clean piece that he child hadn’t taken with him. It’s…a nose? She peers at the face of the battered, familiar statue. There had been moss all over it, but it’s gone now. A minute or two of fiddling, and with a jolt of surprise, the nose nestles against a particular section of broken stone – but it doesn’t stay. The thin film of built-up crud must be the problem. Not to worry; she dips a veil into the bucket and dribbles sparkling…stuff…onto that part until the marble is as pristine as the broken end of the nose. This time, when she fits the piece to the statue, it stays.

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Finance throws a last sour look at the uniformed girl following after her Lord, thoughts like exotic gold-digger and public disgrace shooting after her like tiny darts. She ignores them; they’re not worth bringing to her Kal’shan’s attention. Especially not when her favorite part of today is coming up.

The doors close with a muted thud, and in the privacy of the gym they shed illusions and stand before each other as they truly are. He smirks in anticipation as the Warglaives of Azzinoth appear at his command. A few flourishes, and his Champion lavishes adoration upon him for that bit of showmanship.

“Will you teach me how to do that?” she asks breathlessly. “How you keep them somewhere else and then-“ she gestures vaguely.

He looks in mild surprise at one blade. “I’m…not sure I can. I was-“ –very insane. No, not going to say that. “-it was a long time ago. I’m not sure I can remember how I did it initially.”

To his surprise, she doesn’t look disappointed. “If you ever remember, will you teach me?”

“Of course.” How could he resist such an eager student? “Now, fetch yours. We’ll run through the warm-up twice and then enter combat.”

He’d thought to wheel on her once the second routine was complete and launch an attack without warning, but when he turns to face her, his blade met by hers with an impact so solid that she had to have been in the middle of her own attack. His lips peel back in a feral grin, exposing teeth sharper than any Kal’dorei’s should be. Yes, this is how it should be. A devoted servant, an adept student, and an able fighter. Everything he could desire in a lieutenant. Her form is still sloppy, but her reactions are as fast as he could wish and she uses that agility to counter his greater strength when her own is insufficient. As usual, it takes a few minutes for her skill to ease the fear that he will accidentally hurt her, allowing him to slip into the soothing mindset where thought is irrelevant in the face of reaction, the rhythm of strike-block-counter and the purity of motion calming him.

It is a small sound that breaks this trance, and at first he is not sure what has disrupted the idyllic mindlessness of battle. Enough time has passed that he can feel the first stirrings of fatigue in his muscles, so she must be close to exhausted. That must be why she flubbed that last block and got a light gash across the underside of one arm. It’s not serious, at least; barely more than a scrape.

The world freezes as he realizes what he’s seeing.

He hurt her.

“Return to your room immediately!” She pauses at his furious growl, but each second brings him closer to losing the control that’s slipping even now. “DO NOT DISOBEY ME!”

The raw emotion in his voice convinces her; she dons her disguise and marches for the door without bothering to put away the glaives. Distantly, she can hear her tell the guards that she was ordered to return to her apartment, and then the door shuts and he can let loose the howl of rage and shame that’s been building inside him.