As she carefully negotiated an icy street near West End, Alysia heard light footsteps behind her. Cautious by nature, particularly on this side of town, her left hand was held close to the phoenix-crested dagger at her thigh. Shadows deepened about her right hand in a writhing, inky mass, coiled to blind, to suffocate, to garrotte.
She allowed herself to be followed for a time, lazily lengthening her stride; as her pursuer hurried to catch up, she slowed her pace. The priestess turned suddenly, regarding the girl who had been following her: dressed in red silks and sandals, crowned by luxuriant fiery red hair, possessing sparkling sea green eyes. And a bronze collar.
A collared slave.
Alysia's features were impassive, mostly shrouded by an unruly white-gold mane. Her contempt was mostly disguised while she considered the girl. When she spoke, her voice was a smooth contralto, dulcet and edged with impatience. "Why are you following me?" she asked.
The girl slid to a stop and quickly bowed down, about five feet away from the demon-spawned Priestess. She had seen the Priestess' small, pale hand on the dagger, but knew she could not back down from her mission. Her head bowed, her hands slid behind her back, her fingers laced together. While she spoke, she kept her green eyes on her own knees. "Forgive this girl, M'Lady, art thou M'Lady Alysia Skye?"
"I'm not your Lady," said Alysia, sardonic words pointed and laced with bemusement. While she had little patience for slaves, she didn't intend to remark on the unseemly subservience beyond that. "But yes," she continued, "I'm usually called Alysia Skye."
The flame-haired girl nibbled on the tip of her lower lip as she was reprimanded for using the term 'M'Lady'. Some uncertainty passed across her mien, the true nature of which the Priestess could not discern. Then, the kneeling female spoke again. "Mayhaps, Mistress Skye knows of Master Tristan Aderion?
"I know of him," drawled Alysia calmly. Who didn't? At one time, the Ade'rion name had been either feared, loathed, or worshipped. Her fingertips remained close to her Li'Ved dagger. "Though I must admit, I thought him dead. What are you to him? Enemy or friend?"
"This girl be naught, Mistress, only one that serves Master." The slave girl's voice was soft, not much above a whisper when she spoke. "Master doth be well, Mistress."
Alysia mused. "So, he's alive and well, and you're a possession of his." The first two were surprises. The last was typical, the Priestess thought. "I would presume he sent you, for those of your ilk rarely have much in the way of initiative. Why did he send you to seek me, then?"
The slave swallowed hard before she answered. She heard the wry amusement in the silver-haired woman's voice. "Master desires to know where Mistress may be reached."
"And he couldn't just . . .ah, no matter." The Priestess shrugged, and the bridge of her nose wrinkled as she smiled. She couldn't imagine what would possess him to seek her out after deciding to found his own bloodline, but her curiosity was roused. "You may convey to Ser Ade'rion that he might find me at Dark Lake Manor, in Rhy'Din, or in the Fortress I called home when he was considered my adopted son."
The flame haired girl had never heard of either place, but it didn't matter. She had gotten the information she needed. A soft smile graced her lips, for the first time since she was sent on this errand. Green-eyed gaze still on her knees, she murmured her gratitude.
Impatience flickered across Alysia's countenance. She shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other, crunching ice under her tread. "If you have discharged your duties in this regard, then away with you, little one. It pleases me to know Tristan is well, but I have business to attend to."
"As Mistress desires," responded the slave. Her flesh was covered in goosebumps from traveling without a cloak, and kneeling on the ice for so long. She quickly rose to her feet, like water in a fountain, then took three steps back before turning her back on the woman. She ran back the way she had come.
Alysia's lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile, and she looked away. It was cold, and so was she. While mostly resigned to the probability of uneasy and silent stares, she wanted to find someone who would talk about what was going on with the Scathachians.
She allowed herself to be followed for a time, lazily lengthening her stride; as her pursuer hurried to catch up, she slowed her pace. The priestess turned suddenly, regarding the girl who had been following her: dressed in red silks and sandals, crowned by luxuriant fiery red hair, possessing sparkling sea green eyes. And a bronze collar.
A collared slave.
Alysia's features were impassive, mostly shrouded by an unruly white-gold mane. Her contempt was mostly disguised while she considered the girl. When she spoke, her voice was a smooth contralto, dulcet and edged with impatience. "Why are you following me?" she asked.
The girl slid to a stop and quickly bowed down, about five feet away from the demon-spawned Priestess. She had seen the Priestess' small, pale hand on the dagger, but knew she could not back down from her mission. Her head bowed, her hands slid behind her back, her fingers laced together. While she spoke, she kept her green eyes on her own knees. "Forgive this girl, M'Lady, art thou M'Lady Alysia Skye?"
"I'm not your Lady," said Alysia, sardonic words pointed and laced with bemusement. While she had little patience for slaves, she didn't intend to remark on the unseemly subservience beyond that. "But yes," she continued, "I'm usually called Alysia Skye."
The flame-haired girl nibbled on the tip of her lower lip as she was reprimanded for using the term 'M'Lady'. Some uncertainty passed across her mien, the true nature of which the Priestess could not discern. Then, the kneeling female spoke again. "Mayhaps, Mistress Skye knows of Master Tristan Aderion?
"I know of him," drawled Alysia calmly. Who didn't? At one time, the Ade'rion name had been either feared, loathed, or worshipped. Her fingertips remained close to her Li'Ved dagger. "Though I must admit, I thought him dead. What are you to him? Enemy or friend?"
"This girl be naught, Mistress, only one that serves Master." The slave girl's voice was soft, not much above a whisper when she spoke. "Master doth be well, Mistress."
Alysia mused. "So, he's alive and well, and you're a possession of his." The first two were surprises. The last was typical, the Priestess thought. "I would presume he sent you, for those of your ilk rarely have much in the way of initiative. Why did he send you to seek me, then?"
The slave swallowed hard before she answered. She heard the wry amusement in the silver-haired woman's voice. "Master desires to know where Mistress may be reached."
"And he couldn't just . . .ah, no matter." The Priestess shrugged, and the bridge of her nose wrinkled as she smiled. She couldn't imagine what would possess him to seek her out after deciding to found his own bloodline, but her curiosity was roused. "You may convey to Ser Ade'rion that he might find me at Dark Lake Manor, in Rhy'Din, or in the Fortress I called home when he was considered my adopted son."
The flame haired girl had never heard of either place, but it didn't matter. She had gotten the information she needed. A soft smile graced her lips, for the first time since she was sent on this errand. Green-eyed gaze still on her knees, she murmured her gratitude.
Impatience flickered across Alysia's countenance. She shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other, crunching ice under her tread. "If you have discharged your duties in this regard, then away with you, little one. It pleases me to know Tristan is well, but I have business to attend to."
"As Mistress desires," responded the slave. Her flesh was covered in goosebumps from traveling without a cloak, and kneeling on the ice for so long. She quickly rose to her feet, like water in a fountain, then took three steps back before turning her back on the woman. She ran back the way she had come.
Alysia's lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile, and she looked away. It was cold, and so was she. While mostly resigned to the probability of uneasy and silent stares, she wanted to find someone who would talk about what was going on with the Scathachians.