☼ ISHAK ☼اسحاق
"So here we are, escaping from the world outside"
"So here we are, escaping from the world outside"
As a general rule, you often find yourself in empty hallways.
It is enough, at times, to make you wonder if their owners are aware of just how much space they’ve given themselves and just how little they use it. Now, when you walk down them you’re looking for trouble to stop, but it wasn’t all that long ago you were the trouble.
You see Adonai before he sees you.
You watch, distantly, as he coughs. Just like every time you see him, you are reminded that seeing people at their worst as Ruth heals them is never quite the same as seeing someone on the way there. You remember Adonai, before he was sick.
(Before he was poisoned, but you’ll keep your own counsel on that.)
Watching him now, it’s really a pity. Of all of them, and you keep a careful list, he’s the one who’s second to Ruth. Miriam, once, you’d have ranked higher, but she seems to fall further apart in her grief by the day. You liked Miriam because she seemed to care about her siblings; you like Adonai by process of elimination.
You’ve had no interaction with him, preferring as you do to avoid any Ieshan that isn’t named Ruth. Instead, you have stacks of gossip, comments by servants and Ruth. You weigh them; weigh all the other Ieshans against them. Then, you tip the scale slightly because Adonai is ill and it isn’t causing more work for Ruth.
(You know, full well, that this isn’t tenable forever. Ruth wants to investigate, needs it. Her identity is wrapped up in healing, and she is being denied. You hate it. Fallout you can’t predict is lying in wait.)
You watch as he props himself against the wall and wonder absently what exactly he’s doing. And then —
He says your name.
“Prince Adonai,” you say mildly, evenly in return. Perhaps your surprise is a little uncalled for; it’s been years and your entry to the household wasn’t exactly conventional. Reason enough to learn your name.
“I don't think I have ever had the pleasure,” he says.
You are not exactly a fan of the challenging stare he has trained your way, and you’re not convinced either that you shouldn’t say to hell with it and get him some medical attention. But you’ve also known desperation, and if he wants conversation that badly you can oblige.
“No, you haven’t.”
There are several paths you could take from here. The cruelest would be to ask after his health, or perhaps if he’s been by the bar to see Pilate. Less cruel would be to note that you have seen him with several guests but not with his siblings. Least cruel of all, the weather. You pick something in between.
“Hosting duties treating you well?” you ask, though the answer will decide just how inane a question it is.
(There are some things you cannot help but to think; it is part and parcel of being an ex-assassin. In this case, it is the list of breathless questions you could have had asked were he a target. Who was the architect of this house? What is its history? Tell me about the paintings, the interior design. What’s it like to have wings, to lead ceremonies? And it is also this, with every cough he seems weaker than before.)
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