She could not help but recall the night they had crossed paths, the way the rain fell so sharp that it felt like pin pricks upon her glistening skin... the way the thunder cracked so viciously, like a bullwhip snapping at the heels of its mark; that was the night Avdotya’s suspicions of an abandoned crow swelled into bloom. Indeed, not only had he pressed the blade of his dagger to Solterra’s velvet throat, but he’d ran it across - gently, though, not quite deep enough to bleed the nation dry, but sufficient in the way it left them wounded and gasping for relief. Day Court was once again under the fire of chaos and calamity, and there sat Raum upon its broken throne.
It was with silence, then, that the viper prowled its empty streets. She was swift as the wind with the palace in her sights, the curves of carved stone peeking over weathered sandstone walls. He was in there... somewhere within a crow preens, plotting the moves and countermoves of a war yet to come, but Avdotya had her own intentions as the dawn of his empire was beginning. Her interests did not rest in the foolish squabbles of courts, kings and queens and she had long since denied any power a simple crown held over her.
But this was opportunity, one that granted her the ability to take advantage of Raum’s fragility as the head of a nation that would surely eat him alive if given the chance. She would be the first to assure him of that.
So she wound her way into the palace’s open courtyard, her body a shining beacon from the sweat that soaked her. Even as the sun had only just reached the dark edge of the horizon, introducing Solterra to its new reality, Avdotya could feel the intensity of the heat. She thrived in it, in fact the mare even reveled in it - the desert fueled her feral heart regardless of the claustrophobic sandstone walls that surrounded the capitol. That wildness was why she was here, it was why she stood before the palace steps with a nobleman’s head strapped firmly to her shoulder. It was why she summoned Raum from the depths of his stronghold.
”Raum!" Her voice boomed through the morning’s lull, and with it the ground around her began to shudder. It rumbled with the thrum of her magic and reached its earthy tendrils up into the walls, shaking the dust from them and - she hoped - enticing the king enough to heed her call...
... and when he did, she drove the blunt end of her spear into the dirt, loosing the head from its ties and thrusting it upon her weapon's jagged arrowhead. Staring up at Raum from atop its pike were the lifeless eyes of one of House Hajakha’s most favoured members, his tongue hung boorishly from his unhinged jaw and filled with maggots crawling from every orifice.
Avdotya, too, looked up at him from her place at the edge of the king’s doorstep, offering only the slightest play at a curtsy dripping with cynicism; she was where he would find the fires of Solterra. ”There are matters that need discussing.”
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
It is first dawn, the idle rising of a sun lazy and full. The sky it bathes, red, red, red and from the window Raum watches that sun’s blood seep across the sky.
It would not be long until light, golden and hazy would shatter the blood and send it fleeing like fleas. Then would set another day of relentless sun. Raum’s lips tip with displeasure.
He turns and oh how the weathered walls begin to rattle. Stone upon stone groans and Legion stirs at its call. His sharp beak parts, black, serpentine tongue tasting the air. A silent cry passes his lips, he does not roar, he does not cry a furious caw – not yet, not yet. Raum studies the beast that listens and does not blanch when Legion turns his head to gaze at his master. The monster waits, his culling gaze hidden behind the wrapping of a blue silk scarf. Yet he looks toward Raum as if he could see him, as if he fantasizes of the Crow’s silver skin growing firm and cold and rough with stone.
Raum turns his back upon the beast, a command, “Come,” is all he gives. He hears the clack of talons, the rustle of feathers and the clacking of tooth and beak and knows the basilisk follows (with hatred in its heart and hunger in its eyes).
The doors of the keep open for him and there is Avdotya. The sight of her reminds him of a night of gales and electric storms. It reminds him of skin soaked and metallic, of a realisation that they might not be quite so dissimilar. His black eyes trail over each part of her, over the straight reach of her spear - full of sharp promise, the parted maw and sharp teeth of her lionskin - desperate to devour, and the fetid stench of the head she hangs, strapped to her shoulder. Idly he wonders if they might be the only two in Novus sprawling lands who were so closely acquainted with death and its grotesque finality.
The warrior girl throws down the head that sprays maggots and decaying tissue across the step. In silence Raum surveys it where it lies, his gaze no longer blue but silver – the light of the moon distant and aloof. “Tell me why I should care about the head you have brought me, Avdotya.”
Thick lashes lift as that cool gaze, devoid of his thoughts, his judgment, his reasoning, ascends and settles upon the Davke girl. He was glad Avdotya was here, there was much he had to discuss with her.
A cloud of brick dust descends thick and putrid and Raum watches it descend upon them. His gaze, as it lowers, resettles upon Avdotya. “And do stop rattling the walls of the keep, they could not withstand the force of you once before, and I am sure they will not again.”
It is the slow creak of the palace doors that catch Avdotya’s attention, the low groan that was just enough to unsettle the silence that sat so heavily around them. Her ears spun from their backwards hold and her molten gaze waited for him to slip through the darkness and into morning light. Then, there he was, like a bird perched on high staring down at her from the very top of his steps. His steps. The woman nearly hissed at the thought - here stood a creature borne of Denocte’s black night, no man built of the day’s blistering heat, who assumed the title of king in Solis’ domain. She could feel the snarl bubbling in her throat, threatening to gargle past her lips out of sheer displeasure only to be suppressed and pushed back into her chest, back to where all her hatred simmered and smoldered. Avdotya was not loyal to the crown, she did not possess respect for those who sat upon a gilded throne... especially those who bore no blood of the sun.
But then, she was also not a fool.
The cogs in her brain were constantly at work, ever-aware of the game of power and politics; a feral woman capable of dawning the robes of the civil when circumstance called for it. She had done so once before and she’d done it well. Except this was Raum and Raum was not civil. His game was one she could play without thought, for it was her game too. It was instinct. That was why she was here, standing before a man feared and abhorred by the world with a severed head on a pike as her housewarming gift. A gift and a quiet threat, all wrapped up in a swathe of blood and gore.
A small sliver of a wicked smile grew on her lips when he questioned her, seeking relevance where she had hoped he might have already known it. ”Ah,” she crooned, ”a king does not know his own noblemen.” She looked into the dead eyes of her mark, recalling the fine silks his body wore and picturing the way they would look now draped so elegantly across bone and decaying flesh. ”This is Maalik of House Hajakha, a frivolous man in life and worth far more in death-” the viper paused and remained stock still, moving only to turn her head up to Raum and the beast that stood with him, ”what sort of guest would I be if I arrived empty of hoof?”
And then, when the dust around them sat in a thin layer atop her sweat-shone hide, she studied the great walls she had once set ablaze while he spoke of them. She could still see the soft, black marks of her work that marred them among so many other remnants of the desert horde's presence in the capitol. The Davke had done a magnificent job of ravaging this place in their surge of vengeance, and now their khan had returned to cement the roots of their revival. ”No, but I have taken from these walls what I wanted. My interests lie elsewhere, now.”
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
From the skull’s orbits maggots writhe and creep. They spill upon the flagstone step at Raum’s feet and none flinch at the echoing thud the heavy head made.
Below Avdotya stands, her scars are stark against her torso, her eyes gleam savage and bright. To look in those eyes is to see the blood of his victims running like a river. Surely there were enough bodies of his to make a river now? Did their blood pour out life as if they were but water from a cup? Did it flow like a rapid, surging out into an eternal sea, into its tides and waves of souls gone before their time?
She mocks him and oh how his ire stirs. It sparks as a train on a track, it ignites like gasoline soaked paper and burns bright and hot. Raum is a shell, within him a monster is stirring, a dragon breathes fire against the stone of his flesh and beside him Legion’s beak parts a keening cry of desire slipping past his poisoned fangs.
“I do not.” Raum confesses softly as he continues to gaze at the head before him. “I did not bother myself with the courtly dramas of Solterra when I was spying. I had only interest in the sovereigns and their dealings beyond Solterra’s borders. Games of courtly intrigue do not interest me now either.”
Slowly he lifts his gaze to hers, to meet the crimson of her, that violent, violent gaze. And who is the most deadly with their gaze? The poison king whose blue is electricity crackling and laughing wild and keen, or is it Avdotya, the raging red of a serpent set to bite. Does she know that behind his veil of blue, Legion’s eyes are just as crimson, just as savage. Yet his behold a terrible magic.
“The head.” Raum murmurs to his monster as his scarf slips free. At once the corpse is stone, each writhing maggot turned to rock. The Crow commands a soldier to find a place for it within the hall and obediently she disappears, the head held tight. Legion’s blind fold returns and the beast scrapes its talons across the stone, the walls echoing with the offending screech.
Avdotya continues, her serpent’s eyes glittering with pride. The citadel is safe of her, but… “I would like to offer to a deal, Avdotya.” He remembers the rain, the ravaging storm, the girl who slithered beside him caught in shadow as lightning framed her. Raum had respect for her and he now desires that girl and her might. “One I am sure you will find merit in.”
Her eyes drifted to Raum’s grotesque pet as it squalled; she could feel its yearning, that desire to leave her as just another victim of its porcelain-skinned master. Had she struck a nerve in plucking at the mighty king’s oversight? Avdotya smiled for a fleeting moment. ”They should.” She returned starkly, looking back at him to meet his wild eyes without hesitation. The so-called games of the courts were more than just petty drama, they were intricate schemes, deliberate ploys that all eventually led to the same pretty prize: power. It was Raum who held that power, Raum who had what so many of them wanted, and indeed, it was Raum’s name now being whispered upon the cunning lips of Solterra’s nobles.
Avdotya had once played those games and it damn near crowned her queen of the very court he found himself at the head of. It was the way with which she strategized that got her there, and it was what spelled fire and ruin for the capitol then. He would be wise, she thought, to familiarize himself with all parties of the nation he commanded...
But wisdom did not always come to those with blood on their teeth and power blurring the sense in their mind. The viper reminded herself of that as Raum loosed the scarf from his beast’s eyes, commanding it to turn the rotting head to stone in one flash of its dangerous gaze. It was impressive, a fear-inspiring ability that would sway many who might think to challenge the king - but fear had long since lost its influence over her. Avdotya quietly noted the creature as something to be aware of, but she also noted that it sourced its terror from the eyes and that made it vulnerable. The tip of her spear glinted hungrily in the sun.
She was intelligent enough to keep to herself, to merely watch in silence while the soldier trotted off with her gift to the new crown. Raum represented an opportunity, one that she did not intend to defile so quickly. ”Indulge me, Raum, she finally called up to him from her place at the bottom of the great steps, ”how can I be of service?”
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
He knows Avdotya. From the days he was a mere civilian in Solterra, spying for Denocte, to the day they walked together beneath a violent storm, their exchange amicable, even as the monsoon raged.
He watches her, as he watches everything. Yet here he stands in the sun, bathed by light until he shadow is a mere slip beneath his belly. He longs for more, his soul aches for how lit it is. Oh where are the shadows? Where is Caligo’s darkness? His soul might weep, but it is also shriveled like a flower before the autumnal dawn. Raum has broken himself and he feels it, oh how he feels it. It is a chasm within him and it yawns wide and as wanting as a black hole. But Raum knows how to evade darkness as much as to enchant it.
So he watches as Avdotya’s red eyes gleam. Slowly he wraps the blindfold about Legion’s eyes and the beast stays still but oh how it bristles, oh how its ire is a stab into Raum’s gut. Legion dreams of the day they would be parted, yet with each passing moment they become more tightly bonded. Their nerves are entwined their psyches in tune. One cannot live and be well without the other.
Slowly he descends the steps toward her and insects scatter before him. He watches how her spear glints, how it promises violence at her hands. There is no creature that knows Solterra like her. None. She is valuable, an asset.
“You made the Davke rise.” He says soft as liquor, hard as stone. “You brought them back to their rightful place and I would not deprive them of that. For as long as I am in power I will seek to protect them, if you would see that they protect me in return.” He pauses, close to her, close enough to see the scars that line her torso, to see the curve of her eye – wicked like the sun. “If you accept, there is a place for you beside me. I need an advisor, Avdotya.”
And oh how softly he finishes, almost as if in confession, yet there is nothing confessional about Solterra’s new king. There is nothing of him that is repentant or weak. He watches her closely, studies the curve of her lips. There are few he respects more than she, few who might understand him as much as she.
He fastens the piece of fabric back around his beast’s deadly eyes as if he were sheathing a weapon to his person; so simple, like it was nothing at all to contain such power even when it was not his own. Few could deny the man’s ability to so subtly inspire fear (the type of fear that slowly creeps up in one’s mind. a gradual constriction that takes hold before it is even noticed) - or in Avdotya’s case, respect. It was not often that she paused to acknowledge the capability of another, especially those outside of the Davke, but Raum had managed to garner her favour... if only while he served a purpose. She was a truly selfish woman, after all.
Then he begins to climb down his weathered steps, coming close enough for her to smell the rancid odour of death that assuredly seeped from his very pores. And eventually he is before her, speaking of the Davke - her Davke - and their security under his reign. This was what she came to the capitol for, a crack for them to slip their foot in and flourish with. Without even needing to breathe a single word of them, he has served a deal on a silver platter and Avdotya feels herself begin to hunger.
She already knows her answer when he suddenly throws in another piece to his offer. ”I need an advisor, Avdotya.” She thinks of Maxence in that moment, the dead man who had once offered her a place among his own council so long ago. Oh, how things had changed since then. For him, he was but a pile of bones whittling to dust somewhere in the desert, and she- she was a viper still striking deals with royalty even after proving she was not to be trusted. She could not help but look up at Raum and smile a terrible, lethal smile. ”Let me be your weapon then, Raum, King of Solterra.” She dipped her head and neck, hiding the indignation that broiled in her stomach. To vow her allegiance to the crown was to insult every fibre of her feral being, but sacrifice often forced itself upon those with goals.
She wondered now, though, what his goals were. Did he hope to see the nation burn? Drain them of what good Seraphina had brought to them? Or perhaps he simply sought to see Novus itself brought to its knees before him and beg for his mercy. Sour as she was to bending her own knee to a king, Avdotya could not deny the trickle of intrigue that arose in her mind.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Let me be your weapon then, Raum, King of Solterra. Avdotya says, but her crimson eyes blaze with a viper’s suppleness. Oh she is water in his grasp. He knows that her interests do not lie with him, that true loyalty is not here but deep, deep within her soul.
The Solterran king looks upon her and sees unity. He looks upon her and feels the weight of her expectation. Her scars are sharp and angular, they remind him of teeth and claws. He wonders what scars Seraphina might have borne, should she have survived their attack.
But above all, Avodtya’s scars, sharp as fangs, remind him never to trust her. Serpentine girl, wicked creature. Her spear mocks him as it lines itself up beneath the sun. He does not dare to think she could not spear even Solis and bring him tumbling down from the blue of his throne.
With her acceptance comes her desert warriors. Slowly his gaze tips toward the desert that reaches out beyond her shoulder, deep, deep into the wilderness. Then he turns his attention to the East, to where Denocte rests and a queen with whom his score is not yet settled.
“Meet me in the war room. There are restless times ahead.”
And with that the Ghost turns. He slips like quicksilver up the steps, disappearing into the dark of the chamber. Maggots still writhe where the noble’s head once was, and Legion’s skull tilts, listening to the sounds of a warrior girl, and her singing spear.
@Avdotya - They shall need to discuss things soon. War things.
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
