#but in my mind I'd like to believe there is an equal amount of hostility on the women's side

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tavnians are the kings and queens of mlm vs wlw hostility

[defire]

Dance of Death Chapter 22:

Secrets

Content: gaslighting, emotional whump, slavery, caught red-handed, mild manhandling, minor whumpee

Warren's parents were softly discussing finances in the family's private sitting room, the one with the view of the city. Even Nife wasn't really supposed to go in here, so Warren felt a little uncomfortable broaching the space.

He knocked on the arch that led in from the private library as he came in.

They looked up at him, then at each other with an undue amount of shame and awkward welcome.

"Come in, sit down, we were just talking." His mother said. 

Warren nodded and came in, sitting down on a chair to the side of the couch with an equally good view of the city. As he approached, his father folded up a few select folders and declared that he was done with them, then looked at him with fake energy.

"So, what's up, son?"

Warren stared at his father for a moment, then at his mother's unbelievably welcoming attitude, took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands out of his pockets. Mother didn't like the hand-pocket thing.

"Or are you just here to hang out with us?" Mother said, without hostility.

"No, I..." Warren gripped the arms of the chair. "You... I understand you have taken control of the Nife situation?"

He hadn't meant it to come out so cold and brittle.

"We are putting our feelers out," Mother said.

She should've been in marketing.

Father added,

"Don't worry, son, we do have a plan."

Warren let his breath out slightly, realizing he'd been holding it, realizing he was holding back tears. "You do? Because it... really looks like you just gave up."

"Oh honey," His mother put a hand on his arm gently, checking to make sure no Banes were around to see it first, even though there obviously weren't. This room was for Raizdens only.

"I would never give up on my family." Father said. "And I think you feel that way just as strongly as I do, Warren. So you should believe me when I say,--"

"If you feel as strongly as I do, you wouldn't sell your daughter." Warren interrupted, clenching his fingers together in an attempt to not scrape the chair's finish off with his fingernails in his anxiety. "You didn't do that, did you? You'd never. I'd never."

"Well, Warren, you can't know that, you're not in my position," Father started.

Warren choked a cry of alarm back, swallowing his words. It would be embarrassing to cry in front of his mother.

"Let me finish." Father said. "It's... I wouldn't consider this selling my family, it's more like a mortgage that--"

"A fucking what?!"

"A mortgage that I intend to pay back as soon as I have the money!"

Warren licked his cold lips, leaning back in his chair in shock.

Father waited for him to apologize for the interruption. He didn't.

Father huffed.

"I am doing my best for this family, son. I know it's not what you want to hear, but sometimes, certain sacrifices have to be made..." He looked closer at Warren, realized the boy was too shocked to be fully listening, and stopped with a small eye-roll. "You know, I'd like to see you come up with something better."

Warren's gut ached at the words. It wasn't like he had a different solution in mind, but that didn't make this okay... did it? The longer he looked at his mother's long-suffering expression, the less confident he felt.

"See Warren," His father went on, "It was either her or all of us."

"Her or all of us?" Warren repeated, dumbfounded.

"You know how bad the situation is..." Mother smoothed a hand on his knee, and her eyes were comforting.

It felt like they both understood everything better, and if he just let them explain it, everything would make sense again. No... That kind of thinking was what had isolated Nife from the family in the first place. 

Warren gently put his mother’s hand back on her own knee.

“Mother, Father… Why wasn't it me you sold?"

His mother's jaw dropped with shock, then she looked to his father. His father looked down at the closed folders under his whitening thumbs as he squeezed too tightly.

"Tell me. Why Nife?" Warren's voice was hard.

His father still didn't answer, and his mother had clearly decided to stay silent.

"Why is it always Nife?!" He shouted, stamping on the ground before he even knew he'd stood up. He trembled with unshed tears. "Nife ignored. Nife getting in trouble. Nife being--being so neglected she was abused for over a year before it even occurred to her to ask for help?" He was out of breath.

He waited for Mother to point out that Nife always seemed fine, but she didn't speak.

"And against the odds you threw at her, she becomes important, and starts changing Gapp. And your response is to fucking throw her away." He paused. "No, sell. Selling someone, is worse." He pointed at his father, then froze as he saw his reflection in the darkened window. A tall young man, pitched half-forward frenetically with a shaking finger, which slowly lowered as he felt hot shame come down his head and all the way down his gut.

He sank down into the chair slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep from crying. His head hurt with the effort.

"I know it's hard to understand the nuance here, son," Father said.

"Nuance? But... dammit--" He wiped a tear away and rubbed it on his tunic. "But you yourself told me how wrong it is to pretend to own another human being."

"And I pray you don't ever say those words to me outside of this room, son." 

Warren was about to speak, but Mother interrupted.

"Don't you understand, Warren? It doesn't matter what you believe. It matters what society believes, because that's what is going to have real impact. Your belief isn't going to change anything."

Warren rubbed his forehead, trying to understand.

"To put it simply," Father said, "I don't choose to believe in anything that will get my family enslaved. Nife... is not so considerate. It's only natural that the consequences fell to her."

Warren gritted his teeth and pushed his hands into his pocket, standing up.

"So... you sold her. Because..." He shook his head and walked away to the window, blinking at the silhouette of the man he'd become. He felt like a ten-year-old right now, being lectured by his parents. He'd so much rather have them be right than think what he was thinking. "You sold her because she wasn't a valuable asset like I am."

He turned on his parents, seeing them stiffen and draw away slightly. Then his mother heated up quite a bit, and he could see she was about to get angry out loud.

"No, don't." He waved his hand in a gentle "calm down" motion, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I think I'm just tired."

With a short "good night", he went to bed. But he couldn't sleep. His mind went over and over the conversation with Kit and then with his parents, cringing at his loss of control and then firing up in anger at his parents' defensive arguments.

He couldn't accept it. Any of it.

After the other servants had gone to bed, Nife and Iridiss were left in the lamplit kitchen, washing up and preparing for next morning's breakfast. Iridiss's voice was a pleasant silvery jangle, and her word choice made everything she said sound like a hasty chant. 

Iridiss paused to stuff the last of the roll, which Nife had stolen for her from dinner, into her mouth.

"Seriously, it's like you know everything," Nife said as Iridiss liberally provided interesting tidbits of gossip.

"Oh I know tons," Iridiss said. "But'chya know, I never told anyone as much as this."

"There were a couple other things I was going to ask you about the missing man."

"Murdered man." Iridiss corrected.

"Murdered?" Nife said. "I thought you said he was--"

Nife stopped as Iridisis held out her hand and beckoned like she wanted to be paid in cold hard cash. 

Nife put her hand in Iridiss' instead, came close, and kissed her on the cheek, which was still full of cinnamon roll. Iridiss smelled good, and when Nife's thin lips landed on her face, she burst into laughter so hard she almost lost a few crumbs of the food she was stuffing into her mouth.

Nife didn't break the act, but held the other slave's hand and looked intimately, lovingly, into Iridiss' eyes. 

"Come on, you know you love me," She said, holding back her own laughter under a mask of self-confident boldness. "Tell me."

Iridiss glanced back her with eyes that were teary from laughing, and the moment she met Nife's adoring gaze, she burst into laughter even harder, this time accidentally spitting chunks of the roll on the floor  and saying "oh no, hell," as she continued to laugh and try to toe the evidence under the counter.

At that moment, they both heard Enimee's steps coming up the hall at her typical, terribly fast pace, and turned to the counter, hands smacking onto cloths at the same time. They swished the cloths across the counter in sync as Enimee passed, squinting suspiciously inside on the way.

The moment she was gone, they looked at each other and burst into a fresh explosion of giggling, which they kept stifled in their cheeks in case Enimee overheard them.

"I can't believe we both picked the same thing!" Iridiss laughed.

"Come on tell me," Nife urged. "I'm dying to know." 

"Okay." Iridiss put a hand on the marble counter, leaning forward with a conspiratorial look. "So a couple people said they saw 'im--like after they found 'im dead. Blood everywhere. 'Suicide'." She made air quotes. Her voice sank to such a low whisper, Nife could barely hear it. "But... he had an awful amount of cuts for someone who killed his own self. Now you can't tell nobody I said it. Asides, last person said it's suspicious, went poof. So don't talk shit about it. Least not to the wrong person, if you catch my drift." 

She nodded toward the kitchen doorway where Enimee had just passed, starting to actually clean again.

"Poof?" Nife repeated, following Iridiss. "Doth protest too much."

"Getta work, lazy-ass." Iridiss shot back over her shoulder. She never answered when Nife said something she didn't understand. "Ain't doin this all by myself."

"I'm not lazy, you're a workaholic." Nife muttered, taking a pail to collect the food trash. 

"Anyways, ever'body knows what really happened. The other stuff is just... rumors. Dangerous ones. Sides, I saw all the blood myself, killed hisself dirty all over his room." Iridiss said, but she winked significantly–twice. "Hey, finish up for me. I'm gonna go to bed early."

"Okay, but one more thing--"

Iridiss tilted her head with a glare that was calling Nife cheap.

"Come on," Nife pleaded, gesturing at how much Iridiss was leaving her with. "I won't tell on you for going to bed early... just one more question."

Despite the blackmail, Iridiss couldn't seem to resist a little victorious smile.

"Fine." She said. "One question."

Nife thought for a moment, then asked,

"You said a couple people said they 'saw him'." She said. "You were about to tell me more, weren't you?"

Iridiss wiggled her eyebrows mysteriously.

"Aw, well, I can't just say that out loud, can I?"

"So whisper." Nife said softly, stepping closer to Iridiss, bare feet sticking to the dirty tiles on the way. They made an uncomfortable "nack nack" sound on the floor, meaning stealthy walking was almost impossible in the kitchen, unless you conveniently spilled some flour first.

Iridiss was squinting thoughtfully at the counter Nife had yet to clean, but when she looked Nife in her earnest eyes, she relented. 

"His hat. That's what he saw." She whispered. "A deep fedora, with this single spotted feather in the band. Showed up on the hat stand a few weeks after the funeral."

"Are you sure it was the same hat?"

Iridiss just laughed and wiggled her fingers in goodbye, then left for bed. 

Nife frowned in thought as she finished the kitchen on her own.

She'd already heard that Keerenn Wry had committed suicide several years ago, and his younger sister Luster Wry had inherited the estate. She'd never heard any other theories about it until today.

She was going to have to hunt for evidence that Lady Wry had killed him. As for the hat, that was just a silly rumor; it could've shown up there for any number of much more plausible reasons. 

Tonight was a night for more than just cleaning. She thanked her stars that these Banes couldn't see in the dark–she was going to need to take advantage of that tonight.

That night, when she should've been going to bed, Nife crept up the stairs to the east wing where the nobles' chambers were. Small statues stared into the passage from tiny pedestals next to each door, which were few and far between. A single dim window all the way at the end of the hall cast a spare light into the end of the tunnel of candles, casting shadows from their sconces onto the tan papered walls. 

Nife wasn't allowed up here after sundown–only the nobles’ personal servants were allowed here, in case they needed something in the night. The idea of getting caught was terrifying, but she wouldn't just give up on what she'd had with the Souls.

Dirt on Luster Wry might be the exact thing to tip the scales in her favor. Nife imagined what she'd say to her–

"If only your ladyship might be persuaded to sell my contract for a little less, then my heart might be so touched by your generosity that I might overlook certain... murders..."

"You're asking to pay half–on loan!" Lady Wry would protest.

Nife would send her the slyest of sly grins.

"Oh well," She'd say. "I suppose I'll just have to do the right thing and tell everyone your crimes."

Nife suppressed a giggle as she passed Striker's room. This would be so worth it.

When Lord Keerenn Wry had been found dead, Lady Wry had reportedly sealed the room up, exactly as it was, as a way to honor the dead, and quickly buried him in a private plot on their own land. If everything was the same, maybe there would be evidence inside.

Nife slowed down a little as she approached a small reading alcove with its own window to her left. She was getting close to Keerenn's room, and when she walked into the light from the window, she'd be very visible, in the event that anyone happened to walk into the hall from any of the chambers on either side.

That’s not going to happen. She told herself. It can’t.

Twirling a spoon she'd accidentally brought with her from the kitchen, she stepped into the light, and just passed it, she froze. Then she ducked back into the alcove with a sudden hiss of breath, grimacing and hoping desperately that she hadn't been seen, because someone was there.

Someone was there, and not anyone whose build she knew. She'd seen the outline of a man in a short-brimmed hat standing there with his hand on a doorknob, facing her without moving. It was Keerenn's doorknob. Who would be going into the room?

She felt toward the creepy intruder with nightsight, and a chill ran down her arms as she realized there was nothing. Whatever was in the hall was the same temperature as the cool night air. The same temperature as a corpse.

Then she heard the click of a door from the darkened hall just around the corner. She had to look, to see if it was real–one more look. 

She bit her lips, imagining the horrid flapping gait of the monster that had run at her and Kit and Caboodle that one time, except with this creature, running down the hall toward her the moment she moved. But she did–she peered around the corner once again, heart in her throat.

Her heart beat one more beat harder. The hall was empty, the door closed, now devoid of that silent shadow she had seen for just a moment, now cemented in her mind. She imagined it had disappeared, and was now flapping toward her invisibly, silently, and she would momentarily be choked, possessed, killed–she ducked back out of the hall, hand on the corner, panting.

"Calm down..." She whispered to herself. "Obviously you just expected to see something so much that you did. Idiot."

But what about the click?

The click had been the sound of a door shutting, she was sure of that. There must be someone down there–or some thing–in Keerenn's room. Even though that was completely impossible.

Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder and she gasped in fright. The next moment a calloused hand was around her head and over her mouth.

"Shhh." She heard the man behind her say calmly.

Her heart hammered a beat against the hand pressing up to the side of her neck, but it was slowing down. The hand was warm, like the rest of the body. She had been so focused on the thing in the hall that she hadn’t felt whoever it was sneak up behind her.

"Are you going to be quiet?" The man whispered.

She nodded, shaky breaths slowing down.

He released her and turned her around by the shoulder, and for a moment, her eyes struggled to recognize the man's face, with his golden ponytail backlit by the candles on the wall behind him. The blue light from the window crossed over his face unhelpfully.

Then he straightened, and she recognized him by the lean, tall build--Striker Wry.

First chapter: Next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

Per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version of Dance of Death.

For anyone following along on this story that wants the canon NSFW version of the story for free, I’m posting this story on ao3 as well, part by part. You can get the full book right away on amazon for $0.99, and if you like this book, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review of Dance of Death on Amazon.