B
oudika is not wearing her own face tonight.No, tonight she is someone else. A dancer, she says, when asked. A part of a gypsy caravan that wanders the space between Solterra and Delumine; a vagabond; a wanderer. She has stars in her eyes and a mane plaited so delicately, so elegantly, it seems in and of itself a work of art. She is bright white and silver with dappling on her haunches; her eyes, too, pool like the ichor of dead gods. Mercury and platinum sterling. Nothing about her is as she is beneath the glamour of her magic; but that, she supposes, is a large part of her own entertainment.
Entertainment.
Is that what this is, becoming anyone save herself? Her mouth is dry with unasked questions. There is a pit opened up inside her ravenous and hungry where, before, there had only been contentment. Understanding.
Boudika had never been love-crazed. She had never cared, truly, for romance; it had always been different with Vercingtorix. Unexpected Natural. Like destiny calling. They had been best friends, companions, soldiers in arms, and then—
Never lovers.
But Tenebrae? Amaroq? They are both fresh in her mind and it is maddening to the point that she has left everything she knows. Boudika flees Denocte and seeks familiarity in the one place she should not find it: Solterra. She is there for the Sovereign and only the Sovereign; simply to glimpse him in the crowd is enough—she hears… well, Boudika hears that he has courted the Sovereign of Terrastella, and they are expecting children—
Children.
One of the many things denied to Boudika, in her life. Her teeth feel uncomfortable and mundane in her mouth; a normal equine’s teeth, not a kelpies. She walks through a courtyard full of painted skin and beyond, into a hall of marble statues; there are drinks and music, and someone plays the lyre. Boudika feels insanely disoriented; as if she cannot breathe. Everything is bright with tinsel and glare; firelight; glamour.
Boudika turns back the way she came; through a garden smelling of fig trees, past the sculptures, a laughing fountain. She is in a long corridor of arches and palm trees; and then beyond, beyond, and back into the Ieshan dining room. There are extravagant meals and drinks; but Boudika drifts towards the open bar.
The bartender persuades her to try a specialty drink; i’s amber in colour, and smells like mint. Boudika rests at the bar, watching the chaos of the party around her—
Wondering, she supposes, when the alcohol will take effect.
this is who we were, before bones, before dirt, even before light
this untameable expanse, this blue mirror of god. this heaving,
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls.
