the thoma one, god i love him. what a sweetheart :') but like.......what would happen if we went to the kamisato estate with him. and like. the siblings caught us. would they be on our side or would ayato call for our arrest immediately. would thoma still try to help us once he realized or does his loyalty override that. i am dying to know 👀
silent conclusions
summary: the kamisato estate is welcoming, thoma and ayaka are kind, ayato is… ayato.
word count: exactly 4000. very cool
-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest, exactly one (1) swear word, ayato is a little shit (affectionate), if your name is maple uh… whoops?
-> lowercase intended!
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @genshin-impacts-me || @5sos-wdw
@yoshikuno and @alexteea asked for part threes- sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged
<<first part || < masterlist >
teleport waypoints, despite being incredibly convenient, take large tolls.
the moment your feet were on solid ground again you reached, latching onto the closest person as your vision swam with vertigo. bile rose in your throat once more, exacerbating your nausea. though you managed to wash out some of the saltwater with the tea—shockingly sweet, from what you remember of green tea—it still soaked your tongue.
two people are talking, voices just out of focus, and the person you grabbed sets their hand over yours.
you’re thankful they give you a moment’s pause, and you take deep breaths. slowly, the stone beneath you is less blinding, and you can see that you’re outside the kamisato estate. the white and purple walls are tall, imposing, two guards stationed in front of the entrance. it looks like light security, but you figure nobody could be bold enough to try anything anyways.
you pull your hand from your support, hoping your gaze show your apology as you look at-
ayato?
he glances at you, eyes flicking over you once before returning to his talk with hisashi.
oh fuck.
thoma appears from your other side and takes you by the arm, walking for the entrance to the estate. “come on, let’s get you inside.”
you follow in a daze, still thrown off by the fact that you grabbed the arm of the yashiro commissioner after teleporting. you’re certain that most people would be knocked off in an instant—or worse—if not by him then by those around. you can’t tell which is more shocking: the fact that he didn’t seem upset afterwards, or that hisashi let you get so close in the first place.
the courtyard is full of life, plants lining the outer edge and the raised patio-like platform in the middle. the various workers around the area stare a little more at you than you’d like, but since thoma is besides you they don’t give you much trouble. the emblem of the kamisatos ripples on the flags they’re printed on, moved by a silent breeze.
the guards in front of the door eye you with more suspicion, and step inwards over the door as you approach, spears crossing in an X. thoma’s steps halt unnaturally, and you can see confusion on his face out of the corner of your eye.
“who is with you, retainer?”
“er…”
right. ayato had directed the conversation at the teahouse to your charges, not to you. you never got a chance to tell your name—not that you would have told the truth, incase history tried to repeat itself.
“the commissioner has employed new help,” he said, wisely keeping back the part where you were being hidden from the shogunate. “i am to show them to their quarters.”
the guard’s eyes narrow further, and you can’t find it in yourself to blame them. you don’t look fit for work by a long shot, let alone for somebody as prestigious as the kamisatos.
“come on souta, when have i ever been untrustworthy? the commissioner himself is just behind us, if you don’t-“
the door behind the guards slid open and they rushed not to block the way, glancing first at each other and then to the open doors.
ayaka is standing in the open doorway, barely-concealed curiosity evident in her eyes. in one hand is a fan that covers the lower half of her face, the carefully painted design matching her eyes.
your mind flashes back to when you were introduced to her, when she was sitting behind a screen and thoma said that that was the traditional way to greet guests, or something similar. sure, you’re less of a guest and more… maybe blackmailed is a little too harsh of a word, perhaps more coerced-
“m- my lady?” thoma steps forward, tugging you behind him, and you can’t tell if it’s meant to be protective towards you or her. “what are you doing out here?”
“indeed, it is rather rare for you to be out. i told you i was bringing home somebody, ayaka.” ayato’s voice once more comes out of nowhere, and you turn to see him and hisashi walking up. the latter looks more tense than you’ve ever seen him, and you don’t blame him. considering ayato gave a… warning..
…wait a minute-
“it’s well past when you said you would return,” ayaka points out, voice far more diplomatic than you’d expect from a conversation between siblings. “is it wrong of me to go for a stroll?”
an odd expression flashes over ayato’s face, but it melts into acceptance quicker than you’d expect. “that is fair. i apologize. negotiations took longer than expected.”
you have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something smart in return. the threat of salt also helps, but not nearly as much as the fear of angering him.
something like a laugh comes from ayaka, but you refrain from turning. even if you’re ‘allowed’ to, it feels polite. also, you really don’t want to upset ayato. after everything he’s done, he feels like the largest threat.
(your mind reminds you of how kind his hand was when it settled over yours outside of the estate. you arrive at the conclusion that ayato is strange.)
“come in, then. hisashi, you are dismissed.”
hisashi bows, then sends a questioning look at ayato. the latter nods, and the former turns neatly on his heel, leaving with barely a sound to his footsteps.
thoma pulls at your hand again and you turn to follow, keeping your eyes on his shoes. you figure it’s better not to snoop or get distracted, and considering thoma’s following ayaka…
ayato’s eyes weigh on your shoulders as you walk.
for the second time today, you’re sat in front of tea you have no intent drinking.
it’s smells a little more flowery, and you think you remember catching the word rose, but that could very well be referring to the flower arrangement in the center of the table.
they’re nice. pale pink, in a soft green vase. they still have their thorns, surprisingly, a detail that distracts you from the conversation happening at the table.
first, ayato filled in ayaka on your conversation at the teahouse. second, ayaka asked for thoma’s recount of how you met. third… third you had zoned out, distracting yourself with the details of rose petals.
“-what do you think?”
you jump slightly at thoma’s voice, the sound closer than before and obviously directed at you. glancing around the table reveals no indication of the former conversation, only two other sets of eyes. soft silver looks with genuine feelings, and pale lavender looks a little too smug for your liking.
the latter picks up his teacup. “we’re assuming you don’t want to reveal your name,” he says, taking a drink. you wish his gaze wasn’t so knowing.
nonetheless, you nod.
“thoma was considering maple, since it’s a pretty neutral name.” wait, what did you just agree to? “it’s not inazuman, but it’s also not anything else either. it’s.. an interesting choice, considering its also the name of a tree common on narukami, but i believe it will hide you nicely.”
oh. that’s better than you thought, considering who it’s coming from.
you give a half-shrug and a nod in response, the pen under your hand not worth picking up for such a simple reply.
“well, maple,” ayaka pauses, but the name doesn’t sound awful, and you let her continue, “thoma can show you around, and you’ll start either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it takes you to get used to the place.”
sounds reasonable enough. you nod, and thoma speaks up next, nudging your notepad.
“do you have any preferences for where you’d like to work? i’ll keep you out of anything involving a lot of other people-“ you send him a silent thank you “-but just so i know…”
you pick up the pen and write down your choices, hesitating at the bottom before adding ‘but anything’s fine if you’re there.’ is it cheesy? probably, but he’s the person you’re most comfortable around here. he’s been nothing but open and kind, and doesn’t have a reputation to uphold or an agenda to fulfill.
he reads over the paper when you pass it to him, and a quiet pride comes over you as he flushes a bit at your end comment.
“a- alright then! i’ll show you around today, you can shadow me tomorrow, and the day after we can finalize things. sound good?”
you nod, and neither of the kamisato siblings have anything to add either, both silently showing their approval.
you feel yourself smile.
thoma’s work is surprisingly simple.
not that it was easy, of course, because what else would you expect working for a third of inazuma’s government, but it’s… shockingly simple.
he’d warned you the night before that you’d need to wake early, but he wasn’t angry when you didn’t wake up on time. he seemed upset, almost, regret lacing his words as he tugged you out of bed. even as you delayed him further by struggling with the uniform—the nightclothes were easy enough, but this one had so many folds and ties that you got lost embarrassingly quickly—he wasn’t upset. he just led you to the kitchens, where he explained every step of how the lord and lady liked their teas.
ayato prefers black tea, he says, carefully measuring out loose leaves. he takes it with no sugar, and as hot as it can be.
ayaka has been trying new teas from liyue, he mumbles, voice quieter than he intends to be as he stirs in honey. she’s quite fond of dragon’s well, but anything from there will do. feel free to experiment, just be sure it’s not too sweet.
he shows you their respective offices, and you wince at the amount of paperwork on both of their desks. they both greet you with a smile, but you can see how tired they are. absently, you wonder if that same exhaustion is why ayato likes black tea.
thoma’s interactions with them are short, and you waste no time in following him to his next task.
the day passes by easily, thoma’s easy conversation—despite your hoarse voice—easing the load of the work. floors are swept and shelves are dusted, and when he quizzes you on their tea preferences at dinnertime you get it right on the first try.
he beams from his post at the stovetop, bright green eyes shining in the same way dew does on grass. you feel your own smile form in response, and he makes you sit and wait while he delivers dinner—yes, to their offices—no matter how much you protest. he returns swiftly, pulling over a pot that you didn’t realize wasn’t empty and ladling out two bowls of soup.
he slides one over to you, and together you share dinner.
the next day is much the same, as is the next, and the next, and you slowly fall into a routine.
you wake up, the knots on the uniform more familiar than they were at the start, a simple way to start a simple morning. you tidy yourself up and meet thoma on the way to the kitchens, chatting about a dream you had the night before or a diplomat that had arrived yesterday for a meeting. water bubbles and you share a breakfast, the two of you preparing tea side by side.
today you decide to make ayaka a new king of oolong tea that had just come in a few days prior. after all the various security screenings, you could finally make it!
thoma encourages you to take the large platter this time, and you comply, however nervous. you’re watching it more than you are the hallway, making sure that nothing spills, and it pays off when you make it to ayaka’s office without incident.
she looks up with a smile as you come in, and you flash one of your own as you set down the large plate.
“good morning, lady ayaka.”
“good morning, maple. how did you sleep?”
you eye the bags under her eyes as you push over her teacup. “i should be asking you that, my lady.”
she chuckles, picking up the cup for a smell. “this doesn’t seem familiar.. what kind of tea is this?”
thoma looks to you from where he’s sorting out a stack of scrolls, and you recite the information off the box.
“it’s tieguanyin, also known as iron goddess, and is a type of liyuen oolong. it seemed sweet by the smell, so i didn’t put much honey in.”
her smile turns sweeter, an oddly genuine happiness taking you by surprise. “thank you.”
there’s a weight to her words, some other information tucked between the lines that you can’t reach. with a smile and a nod, you pick up your tray.
ayato’s office is strangely far from his sisters, something that confused you the first day and still does now. the only difference is that now you’re familiar with the sprawling layout of the estate, and you can take the right turn without missing it.
he’s much more tired, evident by the delay between when he sees you and speaks.
“maple, thoma. good morning.”
your hand paused over his teacup. ayaka… she hadn’t greeted thoma, had she?
you’re fairly certain there’s an implication there, something that ties into the heaviness of her voice when she thanked you, but you don’t have time to think it over. thoma nudges your side and you snap out of your thoughts, moving ayato’s tea and breakfast off the tray.
“is something wrong?”
you shake your head. “no. something.. caught my attention. i apologize, my lord.”
he picked up the cup with a grin, “oh? i do hope you’re not trying to pry into any yashiro documents.”
you shake your head and he drinks, but thoma catches your arm as you turn to leave. his lips part, something worried shining in his eyes, but ayato cuts him off.
“what is this?”
oh no.
ayato’s black tea was easy to brew, tea wise, and with thoma watching over your shoulder you had assumed it wasn’t burnt.
the housekeeper seems just as confused, the both of you turning back to ayato’s desk. he’s staring at the tea in his cup thankfully not with disdain, but certainly with confusion.
“it’s wakoucha, my lord,” you say. “no sugar. hot as can be.”
“is it a new kind?”
“it’s from the same box as yesterday’s, and all of last week’s.”
he looks to thoma, who nods. “the only difference is that maple brewed it.”
ayato’s eyes flick between the tea, thoma, and you, still not accusatory, for which you’re grateful. you’re not sure you could hide from poisoning the yashiro commissioner as easily as you could hide in liyue.
“…here.”
the cup is passed to thoma, who hesitates before trying some. he’s easier to read than ayato—most anybody is—and you can pick out the emotions in his eyes clearer. shock, delight, and then a careful sort of confusion.
“it’s very strong, though the flavor is perfectly intact… even without sugar, it’s still sweet.” you don’t know enough about tea to discern what that means. “but how? i was watching you the whole time…”
you’re tempted to say something stupid—‘well, i hear that nightshade can be pretty sweet’—but wisely hold your tongue, watching the cup return back to ayato’s hands. he stares at the rim of it for a moment, then a flicker of a smile crosses his face.
“well done,” is all he says, and after another sip, the cup is set down in favor of his pen, the prior conversation dissolving back into the air with nothing more than a glance. “and if you two are planning on going to the city today, do stay away from the docks.”
“are the tenryou receiving a shipment?”
“nothing of the sort, thoma, what do you mean? what reason would i have for directing you away from them?” ayato looks up from his paper, some stupid little scheme glinting in his eyes. “i’ve just received news from the shuumatsuban that the imposter is likely in the area.”
you can’t help the way your shoulders tighten, the office suddenly seeming smaller. though you had admitted as little as you could about why you were hiding from the shogunate, you had never brought up their accusations on this front. intentionally, too, because you knew that no matter how kind anybody could be, religion was a heavy topic in teyvat, inazuma especially.
and when you were staring down a man that held loyalty in high standard, it was wise not to admit such a thing.
the corner of ayato’s lips twitch into a smile. “do be careful, maple. i’d hate for you to get caught up in another incident.”
you cling closer to thoma’s side than you normally would when you two go into the city, your hand linked with his as he speaks with the various vendors. you’re not sure why you two are even in ritou, honestly, but didn’t bother with asking questions.
he’s speaking with a kanjou officer, which he’d addressed by name, oddly, and you’re standing behind him, looking around the city. the maple trees are a pretty pink for spring, making the island look a lot kinder. sure, the outlander affairs agency likely still has the area in a chokehold, and sure it’s run by a literal puppet government, but something could be said about its beauty.
“what do you think about lunch?” thoma asks, and you look back in alarm only to see the kanjou officer long gone, his eyes focused on you.
ah.
“we’re gonna be out for most of the day, and there’s a little food stall here that i like. granted, we could eat at shimura’s…”
you shake your head, “here’s fine, thanks.”
he brightens, pulling you along once more. “great! ryouko makes the best dry-braised fish, or she has fried tofu in a miso broth, if you’d rather?”
you make and tell him your choice, and he nods as you walk down sets of stairs, making note of it. people wave at you two as you pass, and though it’s mostly at thoma, you do see some smiles directed at you. probably just because you’re with him, though.
thoma leads you to the left of the main courtyard, taking you down another small set of stairs. it’s… familiar, the tree behind the sidewalk reminding you of something you can’t pin.
“hello ryouko!”
“hello, and welcome! care to have some specialty snacks?”
you keep a hand on his as you look around, letting him order for you. the food stall was backed against a wall, in a tucked away corner, near the port… if you turned so that you faced the staircase, it clicked.
this was where you met thoma. it was months later, at a wildly different time of day, and you were in a much better place… but you were back here. back when he held your hand much as he did now, in a drastically different context but for much of the same reasons.
guidance. security. promise.
comfort.
“first time in the city?”
you turned to the close voice, jumping slightly when you see the owner. maroon hair shadows grassy eyes, ones that seem to pick you apart—much like ayato, but a lot less subtle. the blue of an anemo vision shines behind the baton of a doushin, and you can feel your heart stop as you face down the best detective in inazuma.
you tug on thoma’s hand and he turns as well, apparently recognizing him. “doushin shikanoin? what are you doing out here?”
heizou crosses his arms with a heavy sigh, some of the tension in the air fading as his eyes fall to the floor. “on ritou, a failed mission. here in particular… well, ryouko’s one of the only in inazuma that makes a good katsu sandwich, and i’m in the market for a pick-me-up.”
“really? what happened? do you want eat with us and talk about it?”
“no no, please. there’s no need to interrupt your little excursion on behalf of little ol’ me.”
what is it with inazuman men with blue visions that makes them adore implying things most would rather say aloud?
“well we’ve got time while our food’s being made, don’t we?”
“mmm…” one of heizou’s hands comes up to his jaw as he thinks, tapping a steady beat. “i suppose i can tell you. after all, it was your boss that tipped me off.”
oh no. who could have ever seen that coming.
“ay- ah, i mean the commissioner?”
“indeed. you see, he’s been using his connections to keep the tenryou updated as best as he can, something any detective would appreciate, even if sometimes the information can be a bit lackluster. recently, he’s gotten a tip that the imposter was planning to leave inazuma tonight through ritou’s port, and madam sara sent me out to check it out. i, of course, looked over his evidence prior to coming, and though it was a little shaky, it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. i even heard from some fishermen that they saw somebody shady boarding a merchant boat, but… no dice.”
thoma’s grip on your hand adjusts, and he squeezes once. you don’t have much time to think it over. “i’m sorry to hear it. i can promise that we’re putting all of our effort into solving the situation as best as we can, and i regret letting them slip from our grasp.”
his voice lacks the usual depth behind it, like… like it’s rehearsed, almost. like he was prepared for this.
heizou’s eyes flick to you, jade green seeming to cut into your soul. “oh, naturally. this is such a pity, don’t you agree?”
subtext laces his words, and you’re left floating in the pause between his sentences. even as it stretches, his mouth slips up in a suppressed grin.
“after all, weren’t you the one who told him?”
you blink.
you didn’t do that. you didn’t tell ayato anything, you never even left the estate unless thoma—or, on occasion, ayaka—was by your side. you never had time to collect information, and you certainly didn’t give it to ayato- didn’t he say that the shuumatsuban gave it to him? didn’t he…
’i’ve just received news from the shuumatsuban that the imposter is likely in the area.’
’he’s been using his connections to keep the tenryou updated as best as he can, something any detective would appreciate…’
‘after all, weren’t you the one who told him?‘
you can see when heizou notices that you get it, the sharp light to his knowing gaze. he rests his chin in his hand and passes you a cheeky wink, one that makes you laugh.
kamisato ayato.
what did you expect?
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i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!
Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.
FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit
Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.
Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.
Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.
Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.
Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.
A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.
She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.
The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.
She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.
"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.
At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?
"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."
Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.
"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.
The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.
She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.
"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.
Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.
What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?
"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.
The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.
If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.
"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.
She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"
The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."
He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.
"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.
"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.
She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"
His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."
Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."
He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."
"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."
"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.
There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.
As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.
"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."
��A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.”
Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company.
She begins her prayer to the dead.
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