He burns.
He burns like an imploding sun. How else can a Davke warrior react? How can he feel anything but all-consuming rage? How can he contain this blazing inferno, this incredible murderous intent he harbors in his heart? Reality blurs in vivid shades of red and orange and his legs quiver like a newborn colt. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh lingers in his nostrils and the taste of blood is metallic on his tongue as he gnashes his teeth.
Avdotya steps closer, muscles taut and coiled like a viper ready to strike. He half expects her to lash out at him, but she merely reprimands him for his blindness. Oh, Jahin. Avdotya blames Makeda’s death on the capitol and the frivolities of court. She blames vain, selfish kings and queens and he can’t help but agree with her for once. Or is it grief that sways him so?
Now that he has thought it—seen it—he can’t rid himself of the spectacular vision of the capitol burning, burning, burning. He could burn it down. He could burn it all down. The revelation is as divine and bright as Solis himself. Isn’t that what Makeda would want? Wouldn’t she demand that he bathe in the blood of those who had left her corpse rotting and stinking in the unforgiving sun? What other way could there possibly be? If he did not avenge her death she would think him weak and somehow the idea of Makeda scorning him in the afterlife was almost too much to bear.
What will you do, Jahin? Avdotya dangles the chain before him, chiding and goading him. She speaks with venom on her tongue and calls out to the dark desires of his heart like the serpent of Eden.
He grasps at the delicate golden chain wildly; feeling the mania ebb and flow within him like a pulsing river. The metal is blistering hot from the glaring sun overhead and scorches his skin like a brand but he finds that the searing pain grounds him. The scent of smoke and charred flesh fades and the flames within his heart flicker and wane until there is nothing left; only silence, sadness, and an aching sense of emptiness in the wake of Makeda's death.
There is undeniable truth in the brokenness of Solterra but Jahin knows exactly where to find the guilty party. It's certainly much easier and more convenient to place the blame somewhere else like the capitol—or anywhere else for that matter—rather than facing the reflection of the tired, scarred face staring back at him in the shimmering oasis water at his hooves.
“If only it were that simple.” He tears his gaze away from his reflection and meets her cold black eyes. “I wish it were, I really do.” He can’t help but wonder if she is enjoying this little game—tormenting him and driving his mind to the brink of madness and back. And for what? A test of some kind? He is too tired to ask, too numb to care what Avdotya thinks of him anymore and this liberates him and he speaks freely.
“You're right—Makeda will not be the last, but only if we fail to adapt. We can’t live this way anymore, we will never win!” His voice rises, trembling with anger and exasperation. Surely you must know that by now, Avdotya, after all you have been through? After all your people have been through? “And if we do manage to win,” he spits the word sarcastically, “by some mad stroke of luck or divine intervention, at what cost? Until it’s only you, the mighty khan, still standing? You have lost so much already and now your sister is gone; are you prepared to lose even more? Does it really mean that much to you to make the capitol pay?”
He regrets the questions as soon as he asks—he fears he already knows the answer and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it from her lips; not ready to believe that power and revenge might mean more to Avdotya than her family.
Jahin and the khan have always had a rocky relationship but he fears he has gone too far this time. He shakes his head sadly, wishing he could feel surprised that she still spurns him for his past transgressions. Jahin is a simple man and he lives by a simple code. All those years ago it just seemed right to repay his debt to Seraphina and to live and let the capitol live…but was it really worth it to be trade Avdotya’s respect and trust in order to keep his own sense of honor and pride intact?
“What will I do? I will do what I have always tried to do. I will protect and serve you and what remains of our people.” But no matter what I say or do, it's never enough for you...
Where else could this all be coming from, if not from her deep distrust of his intentions? Why else would she use Makeda’s death as an excuse to test him, again? He knows she will never be satisfied with any answer he gives her; her standards are so impossibly high. “What I do or don’t won’t matter. I'm nobody. You are Khan and our fate rests solely with you, Avdotya. So, what will you do? Are we to be relics of a bygone era? Bleached bones in the sand next to Makeda’s? Or will the Davke have a future in Solterra?”
He tosses Makeda's chain back to her. If the loss of her own sister can't convince her that it might be worth seeking another path for the Davke, then nothing will.
He burns like an imploding sun. How else can a Davke warrior react? How can he feel anything but all-consuming rage? How can he contain this blazing inferno, this incredible murderous intent he harbors in his heart? Reality blurs in vivid shades of red and orange and his legs quiver like a newborn colt. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh lingers in his nostrils and the taste of blood is metallic on his tongue as he gnashes his teeth.
Avdotya steps closer, muscles taut and coiled like a viper ready to strike. He half expects her to lash out at him, but she merely reprimands him for his blindness. Oh, Jahin. Avdotya blames Makeda’s death on the capitol and the frivolities of court. She blames vain, selfish kings and queens and he can’t help but agree with her for once. Or is it grief that sways him so?
Now that he has thought it—seen it—he can’t rid himself of the spectacular vision of the capitol burning, burning, burning. He could burn it down. He could burn it all down. The revelation is as divine and bright as Solis himself. Isn’t that what Makeda would want? Wouldn’t she demand that he bathe in the blood of those who had left her corpse rotting and stinking in the unforgiving sun? What other way could there possibly be? If he did not avenge her death she would think him weak and somehow the idea of Makeda scorning him in the afterlife was almost too much to bear.
What will you do, Jahin? Avdotya dangles the chain before him, chiding and goading him. She speaks with venom on her tongue and calls out to the dark desires of his heart like the serpent of Eden.
He grasps at the delicate golden chain wildly; feeling the mania ebb and flow within him like a pulsing river. The metal is blistering hot from the glaring sun overhead and scorches his skin like a brand but he finds that the searing pain grounds him. The scent of smoke and charred flesh fades and the flames within his heart flicker and wane until there is nothing left; only silence, sadness, and an aching sense of emptiness in the wake of Makeda's death.
There is undeniable truth in the brokenness of Solterra but Jahin knows exactly where to find the guilty party. It's certainly much easier and more convenient to place the blame somewhere else like the capitol—or anywhere else for that matter—rather than facing the reflection of the tired, scarred face staring back at him in the shimmering oasis water at his hooves.
“If only it were that simple.” He tears his gaze away from his reflection and meets her cold black eyes. “I wish it were, I really do.” He can’t help but wonder if she is enjoying this little game—tormenting him and driving his mind to the brink of madness and back. And for what? A test of some kind? He is too tired to ask, too numb to care what Avdotya thinks of him anymore and this liberates him and he speaks freely.
“You're right—Makeda will not be the last, but only if we fail to adapt. We can’t live this way anymore, we will never win!” His voice rises, trembling with anger and exasperation. Surely you must know that by now, Avdotya, after all you have been through? After all your people have been through? “And if we do manage to win,” he spits the word sarcastically, “by some mad stroke of luck or divine intervention, at what cost? Until it’s only you, the mighty khan, still standing? You have lost so much already and now your sister is gone; are you prepared to lose even more? Does it really mean that much to you to make the capitol pay?”
He regrets the questions as soon as he asks—he fears he already knows the answer and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it from her lips; not ready to believe that power and revenge might mean more to Avdotya than her family.
Jahin and the khan have always had a rocky relationship but he fears he has gone too far this time. He shakes his head sadly, wishing he could feel surprised that she still spurns him for his past transgressions. Jahin is a simple man and he lives by a simple code. All those years ago it just seemed right to repay his debt to Seraphina and to live and let the capitol live…but was it really worth it to be trade Avdotya’s respect and trust in order to keep his own sense of honor and pride intact?
“What will I do? I will do what I have always tried to do. I will protect and serve you and what remains of our people.” But no matter what I say or do, it's never enough for you...
Where else could this all be coming from, if not from her deep distrust of his intentions? Why else would she use Makeda’s death as an excuse to test him, again? He knows she will never be satisfied with any answer he gives her; her standards are so impossibly high. “What I do or don’t won’t matter. I'm nobody. You are Khan and our fate rests solely with you, Avdotya. So, what will you do? Are we to be relics of a bygone era? Bleached bones in the sand next to Makeda’s? Or will the Davke have a future in Solterra?”
He tosses Makeda's chain back to her. If the loss of her own sister can't convince her that it might be worth seeking another path for the Davke, then nothing will.
@Avdotya
