(( I guess I should probably start posting these here as well instead of just hoarding them on tumblr! :v ))
Ghoa watched Elam Grave leave the Rakusui Gardens after their discussion, the smile ever lingering on her lips until the precise moment that he and the last of his men were out of her sight. The second that she was sure sure that none could see her, that warmth left her expression only to be replaced instead by something far different: gnawing unease.
“I am not the flatterer you are,†he had told her. “..so when I call you indispensable, know that it is true.â€
It wasn’t that she doubted the authenticity of his compliment. Rather, it was the fact that she did believe it to be wholly true that had caused her stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots. Anyone else may have received the compliment with pleasure, a seemingly benign affection that should warm the heart.
But ‘anyone else’ had not faced the obstacles that she had had to overcome to take her freedom, obstacles that had only continued to come her way even after earning it. For someone like Ghoa, a woman who had fought against a seemingly never-ending procession of those who wished to own and control her, the word ‘indispensable’ may as well have been a pair of heavy shackles affixed to hand and foot.
It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Perhaps even a predictable one, much to her own frustration. It was inevitable that in her business of ingratiating herself to the powerful and wealthy that some marks would grow overly attached to her charm, her skills, or some combination of the two. It was a testament to how well she had adapted to the hand of cards she had been dealt and just how skillfully she could play them, even if it was a terribly inconvenient one.
In the past, she had simply fled when she felt the winds begin to change Just as she had escaped the Kharlu years and years prior, she would gather her things and quickly, quietly leave in the thick of night. Sure, it had left the occasional burned bridge and sometimes even scorched earth in her wake, but none had been able to stop her.
Yet this was different. This time, Ghoa had felt the shifting of the tides too late. By the time she had realized just how dangerous, how different of a beast that Elam Grave was, the shore had slipped further and further away from her until it was but a dot on the horizon.
Her hands balled into fists in her lap, her jaw setting in a tight line. Until now, Ghoa had waffled on how to proceed. Part of her had insisted that to make a move against him was the right thing to do, to make amends for the wrong she had done to Nabi by gently tugging her back into the deep when she had tried to leave. A debt that she now owed to Anchor as well for doing what she had failed to do in extricating the other Xaela from this mess she had helped create.
Each time she thought on it, each time she almost made a move forward, she stopped short. Greed stopped her with the promise of more and more wealth and reward for continued cooperation. Fear stopped her with the unstated but ever present threat of reprisal should she fail. And so, she had continued to float along.
But now, one word – indispensable – had given her all the motivation she needed.
She wasn’t a good and noble person, and what was ‘right’ or ‘fair’ hadn’t been enough. In the end, nothing was a stronger call to action than her own selfish sense of self-preservation. And that instinct told her that there was a current running strong under this whole debacle that could very well pull her under at only a moment’s notice. A current that would pull her straight down to the seabed and never let her go once it had her in its grasp.
So swim, it whispered. Now.
Finally, Ghoa pushed herself up from the bench and started towards the inn. Yet it wasn’t with immediate escape on her mind; not yet. There would come a time, but she would have to play it smart first. She would have to tread water, to save her strength, before she dared to swim as hard as she could towards the shore again. And that strength started with doing the one thing that she had continually talked herself out of before, even if the motivations were different now.
She had a letter to write, and a long overdue meeting to arrange.
“I am not the flatterer you are,†he had told her. “..so when I call you indispensable, know that it is true.â€
It wasn’t that she doubted the authenticity of his compliment. Rather, it was the fact that she did believe it to be wholly true that had caused her stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots. Anyone else may have received the compliment with pleasure, a seemingly benign affection that should warm the heart.
But ‘anyone else’ had not faced the obstacles that she had had to overcome to take her freedom, obstacles that had only continued to come her way even after earning it. For someone like Ghoa, a woman who had fought against a seemingly never-ending procession of those who wished to own and control her, the word ‘indispensable’ may as well have been a pair of heavy shackles affixed to hand and foot.
It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Perhaps even a predictable one, much to her own frustration. It was inevitable that in her business of ingratiating herself to the powerful and wealthy that some marks would grow overly attached to her charm, her skills, or some combination of the two. It was a testament to how well she had adapted to the hand of cards she had been dealt and just how skillfully she could play them, even if it was a terribly inconvenient one.
In the past, she had simply fled when she felt the winds begin to change Just as she had escaped the Kharlu years and years prior, she would gather her things and quickly, quietly leave in the thick of night. Sure, it had left the occasional burned bridge and sometimes even scorched earth in her wake, but none had been able to stop her.
Yet this was different. This time, Ghoa had felt the shifting of the tides too late. By the time she had realized just how dangerous, how different of a beast that Elam Grave was, the shore had slipped further and further away from her until it was but a dot on the horizon.
Her hands balled into fists in her lap, her jaw setting in a tight line. Until now, Ghoa had waffled on how to proceed. Part of her had insisted that to make a move against him was the right thing to do, to make amends for the wrong she had done to Nabi by gently tugging her back into the deep when she had tried to leave. A debt that she now owed to Anchor as well for doing what she had failed to do in extricating the other Xaela from this mess she had helped create.
Each time she thought on it, each time she almost made a move forward, she stopped short. Greed stopped her with the promise of more and more wealth and reward for continued cooperation. Fear stopped her with the unstated but ever present threat of reprisal should she fail. And so, she had continued to float along.
But now, one word – indispensable – had given her all the motivation she needed.
She wasn’t a good and noble person, and what was ‘right’ or ‘fair’ hadn’t been enough. In the end, nothing was a stronger call to action than her own selfish sense of self-preservation. And that instinct told her that there was a current running strong under this whole debacle that could very well pull her under at only a moment’s notice. A current that would pull her straight down to the seabed and never let her go once it had her in its grasp.
So swim, it whispered. Now.
Finally, Ghoa pushed herself up from the bench and started towards the inn. Yet it wasn’t with immediate escape on her mind; not yet. There would come a time, but she would have to play it smart first. She would have to tread water, to save her strength, before she dared to swim as hard as she could towards the shore again. And that strength started with doing the one thing that she had continually talked herself out of before, even if the motivations were different now.
She had a letter to write, and a long overdue meeting to arrange.
(( Adding this on to save from a double post! ))
A letter would find its way to Nabi’s hands, delivered by a Hingan boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen summers old. He certainly didn’t have the look of one of Elam Grave’s own men, but who could know for certain? After all, he didn’t offer up an introduction or even a single word of greeting, simply making sure it was delivered to its proper recipient before hurriedly leaving before his presence was noted.
The letter itself was printed in neat handwriting that flowed as smoothly as the black ink it was written in. It was written on nice quality, medium weight parchment that smelled faintly perfumed – a rich and luxurious mix of oriental spice and amber, perhaps peculiarly familiar or even recognizable if the other woman’s memory was particularly keen. At the very bottom of the letter, under the written text, a small white feather was attached to the paper with a small dab of wax at the stem.

Dearest Nabi,
I apologize for not coming to deliver this request in person, and apologize again for even having to ask it of you at all. I know your hands are already woefully full at current. However, I need to speak with you – urgently.
As soon as you are able, please meet me at the following address: Â Shirogane, Eighth ward, Thirty-eighth plot. Give the feather to the woman at the counter and she will bring you to me.
I ask that you take a leap of faith and come alone, though I know trust must come less and less naturally these days given the circumstances. The blame for that lies partly on my shoulders, as I will explain when we meet. Though I fear I cannot ever hope to properly apologize for my mistakes in full, I hope to start on amends by trying to fix what I can.
Sincerely yours,
A Friend
A letter would find its way to Nabi’s hands, delivered by a Hingan boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen summers old. He certainly didn’t have the look of one of Elam Grave’s own men, but who could know for certain? After all, he didn’t offer up an introduction or even a single word of greeting, simply making sure it was delivered to its proper recipient before hurriedly leaving before his presence was noted.
The letter itself was printed in neat handwriting that flowed as smoothly as the black ink it was written in. It was written on nice quality, medium weight parchment that smelled faintly perfumed – a rich and luxurious mix of oriental spice and amber, perhaps peculiarly familiar or even recognizable if the other woman’s memory was particularly keen. At the very bottom of the letter, under the written text, a small white feather was attached to the paper with a small dab of wax at the stem.

Dearest Nabi,
I apologize for not coming to deliver this request in person, and apologize again for even having to ask it of you at all. I know your hands are already woefully full at current. However, I need to speak with you – urgently.
As soon as you are able, please meet me at the following address: Â Shirogane, Eighth ward, Thirty-eighth plot. Give the feather to the woman at the counter and she will bring you to me.
I ask that you take a leap of faith and come alone, though I know trust must come less and less naturally these days given the circumstances. The blame for that lies partly on my shoulders, as I will explain when we meet. Though I fear I cannot ever hope to properly apologize for my mistakes in full, I hope to start on amends by trying to fix what I can.
Sincerely yours,
A Friend
