#alternatively titled: alothrad on the rocks

[thradiastarshard]

“You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.”  — Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

In a perfect world, Thradia would have slipped in and out of the apartment without being seen. She would have taken her seal and her research journals and disappeared into thin air. In a perfect world, she would have been long gone by the time her husband returned to an empty home. He would feel her absence like a stab to the gut, and would have to beg her forgiveness on his hands and knees.

But the last few days have made it abundantly clear that this isn’t a perfect world. None of this would have happened in a perfect world.

She hears the lock jiggle and the door slowly swing open and knows instantly who it is. She ignores the heavy footfalls as they thump closer and closer. She keeps her head lowered and her eyes fixed on her stack of letters, continuing to pick and choose which to keep and which to trash as his shadow fills the doorway to her office.

Silence.

Then:

“Thradia,” Alorinus croaks. She can smell the alcohol from her desk, and of course she doesn’t respond. The only sound is the soft crinkling of parchment as she drops the letter she was holding into the one of the piles and picks up the next one.

“Please,” he then whispers.

Her eyes snap up, staring at him unblinkingly.

“Just say something.”

Her eyes drop back to her desk, and she resumes her scholarly shuffling of papers. “There aren’t enough words in the Thalassian language to accurately convey my fury, but I can try if you’d like.” Her voice is icy and unwavering.

Alorinus doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move either.

So Thradia finishes her sorting, and she slides one of her piles into the satchel resting against her chair. She stands, pulling her cloak over her shoulder. “Move,” she growls. The soulstone around her neck isn’t hiding under any illusions today. Energy roils within it, and every small pulse of magic beats against her chest like a second heart. Alorinus stares at it for a moment, then his bleary gaze shifts to her unyielding face.

“Move,” she repeats.

He does. She makes it halfway across the living room before he tries again. “You’re still wearing your wedding ring.” It’s so dangerously, horribly hopeful that she stops dead in her tracks.

“I should kill you right now,” she whispers, her hand curling into a fist.

“Why haven’t you taken it off?” The fist begins to shake.

“There’s nothing stopping me from carving out your heart right here.”

“I’ll give you the knife if you tell me why you haven’t taken off the ring.”

Thradia Starshard is nothing if not spiteful. She tilts her head, glancing at him over one shoulder. Without breaking their stare, she unclenches her fist and slips the ring off of her finger. It doesn’t bounce as it hits the ground. She holds his gaze for a few heartbeats longer. “Fuck you, Alorinus,” she says, and leaves without looking back.

She’s been at Ardathiel for a week when she finally approaches Lyrinel with the finished product. Hanniel is fast asleep in Nel’s lap as she sits on the patio—neither of them much like using the balcony, lately—and stares out into the empty garden.

Nel’s ears twitch at Thradia’s approach, but she doesn’t acknowledge her otherwise. Thradia takes the chair opposite her and silently offers her the scroll she’d been hiding behind her back. Nel’s brow furrows, and she warily unrolls the parchment. Her eyes scan the page, and then she jumps. “Thradia, you can’t-”

“Yes, I can. It’s why I went to retrieve that damn seal in the first place, it wouldn’t have been legally binding without a Magistrix’s approval. Hanniel needs the security more than I do, and this way no one will ever try to use me for it again.” Thradia looks to the garden. The plants are already growing a bit wild, but Thradia likes it that way. Their gardener, an herbalist Nel had befriended in Silvermoon while pregnant, had lost someone in her family and returned to the capital for the funeral. The irony.

“It’s your birthright,” Lyrinel whispers. Hanniel mumbles in his sleep, adjusting himself against his mother’s chest.

“It’s just a house,” Thradia retorts.

“On land that the Starshards have held since Quel’thalas was founded!” Lyrinel exclaims. The pair of them quickly fall silent as Hanniel stirs at the sudden noise. Thradia waits until he settles before quietly continuing.

“Yes, and there used to be a lot more of it, remember? This isn’t the first time a Starshard is selling property.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Thradia, and this isn’t just bits and pieces, this is the heart of the estate. Ardathiel has always belonged to the Starshard family-”

“And after my death there will be no Starshards left. I’m simply getting my affairs in order earlier than usual, which is probably a reasonable idea given the Legion homeworld that’s suspended above us as we speak.” Argus was, in fact, floating on the horizon; a blemish against the otherwise picturesque Thalassian sky that always seemed to be in your line of sight, no matter where you looked. “As far as I’m concerned, Hanniel is my heir, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Not even your own children?”

“I’m not having children.”

Lyrinel grows very quiet, taking Thradia’s left hand and examining the pale strip of skin where her wedding ring once was. “There is a catch.” Lyrinel looks up at that, eyebrow quirking as Thradia pulls her hair over one shoulder and bares the back of her neck. “I want you to burn it off.”

“Thradia, you know I can’t do fire magic, shouldn’t you speak about this with-”

“Yes, you can. Nesselde Tala’vel was good for something, at least. And this isn’t something Zosine would understand.”

Lyrinel studies her face, one hand resting on Hanniel’s back and the other holding Thradia’s. “Why, after all this time?”

“I’m tired of my life being haunted by family ghosts.” Thradia was not exclusively referring to the Starshards.

Lyrinel’s lips press together into a thin line. “It’s going to scar,” she finally sighs.

“I don’t care.”

Effective immediately, I, Thradia Ae’therin Starshard, hereby bequeath the ownership of Ardathiel to one Hanniel Irinore Morningflame II, to be managed by his mother Lyrinel Serayn Morningflame until he comes of age. This includes all land, resources, and buildings found upon the property described in Exhibit I attached hereto.

Signed: T.A. Starshard

Witness: Lyrinel Serayn Morningflame