Chapter Text
The court of Hewn never slept.
Even in the deepest hours of the night, shadows slithered across marble floors like restless ghosts, murmurs weaving through dark corridors heavy with perfume and poison. Indira moved through them: seen, heard, unbothered. Clad in a gown of black silk that kissed the floor and revealed nothing of her shape, she glided like a phantom beneath the glamour that turned both her eyes green. A child. A simple cup-bearer that survived. A willing participant in matters of state and politics, not by desire, but by design. By sheer willpower. Something her own father hid in plain sight. A shadow of a time long past.
She paused outside the council room, where Keir whispered with his advisors about traitors, threats, and rebellion. He had no idea one sat just outside his door, listening. Feeding the fire. Waiting. The message had arrived that morning in the shapeless form of a moving shadow. One that thought itself successful in trailing after her, obscured by the darkness her own form projected under the light of the torches. The Shadowsinger was coming. Finally. Indira almost smiled.
She kept course, wandering the corridors of Hewn confiding in her memory of the place more than her sight, for this deep into the belly of the mountain, the torches on the onyx walls did little for clarity and warmth. She wasn't even that deep. Centuries of abnegation and cunning granted her a place right in the middle, above the slums, but still in the dark. Her position secured her a place of her own, a chamber with a comfy bed lined in silks, a hearth to keep her warm at night, a private bathing room and copious meals every day. It was way more than most people could ever aspire to in Hewn. But still, she wasn't good enough for faelights. She scoffed internally at that thought. After her father's passing, she was lucky that Keir saw the benefit in keeping her alive, even if it was to make her life hell. But here she was, brooding over being unable to posses faelights or seeing the light of day at all. Long ago she passed up on the idea of ever stepping foot on one of the city's coveted outside balconies reserved for the few, nevermind dreaming about the possibility of setting foot outside the caverns. Now it might be an option, and yet she didn't look up to it. The first ray of sun than would touch her skin and blind her unaccustomed eyes wouldn't be a price earned after battling for freedom. No. It would be just another concession from Keir. Something he allowed for his own benefit.
She kept walking, suppressing any sign that could give away her inner turmoil. Any huff and puff, any snarl. Any twitch, any spasm. The walk to her chambers used to be the most precious moment. After a whole day of playing Keir's games, this was her little freedom. Behind the heavy wooden door of her nook in the mountain she could drop the charade. But not anymore. Not for a while. The seeds had been planted, the hound picked up her scent, there was nowhere safe. Even as she laid in bed at night, the show kept going. It would be soon now. They were watching.
She wondered, as she strolled into the formal seating room that was her antechamber, how the events would unfold. Would she be summoned? Kidnapped? Thrown into a dungeon? Or just unceremoniously cornered right outside the potting? The ghost of a smile almost broke her facade as she poured herself a silver cup of water. She swallowed a content sigh as the cool liquid washed down her throat. If there was a silver lining to the frigid stone walls of Hewn, it was that refreshments always stayed fresh. As she put the cup down onto the cabinet something caught her eye in the reflection over the glass that protected the framed piece of art just six inches away from her face. She focused her sight on it, the flames from the hearth and the velvet couch fading into the background. It came over her shoulder, like a wisp or a tendril, and as she tilted her head to study it better, it seemed to do the same, peering at her with what looked like animalistic curiosity.
Not bothering to hide anymore...
''Would you care for a drink,'' she asked turning around to address her late visitor. ''Shadowsinger?''
Unsurprisingly, her offer was met with silence. He appeared to be leaning against the stone mantle of the fireplace, if she had to guess. The only clue to his presence a pair of hazel eyes burning gold due to the nearby flames and the very shadows that obscured him whole, gliding over the marble floor closest to the fireplace, seemingly playing catch with the reflection from the flames. She took quick note of their apparent playful demeanor, a stark contrast to what she expected, to their master's reputation.
''So, not a drink. Maybe some food? Or a game?''
''This isn't a social visit.''
His voice was low and rugged, yet she couldn't help but find it all too alluring. Like the coarse stubble of a lover, scrapping over exhilarated skin.
''You like to bend them right over, don't you?'' She chuckled sitting on the couch across from him. ''I've heard about your work, Shadowsinger. Big fan.'' She purred.
Once again he regaled her with silence, giving absolutely nothing away as she kept her attention on what she assumed was his face and acted out the hard learned social cues of the courtier game. A far away look, a relaxed hand here and the other there, a stiff back... All an act rehearsed time and time again to perform like a mask. Veiling the unsavory truth. Like his shadows did for him. Oh, how lucky he was... Did he know how lucky he was?
''I wonder, then, Shadowsinger. If this is not a social visit, then why the cozy scene?''
She gave him a long apathetic look, giving him time to respond. Yet nothing again.
''Well, if I had to guess...'' She drawled. ''Kidnapping and torturing me would give the game right away. You need to know where I stand in this whole scheme first. You need to know if I am in cahoots with Keir, which I am, let me tell you.''
Oh, now she had his attention, if the shift in intensity was anything to go by. His eyes smoldered her and the playful bunch of his shadows seemed all too interested in her tale having forgotten all about their game with the glowing reflections on the marble.
''For someone participating in a rebellion you seem too eager to share with the enemy.'' He observed.
''Oh, not a rebellion. I'll leave that to the brutes over the steppes.'' She said giving him a once over that said the likes of you. ''This is a coup. Nothing messy, just a political, backstabbing money-under-the-table old coup. And as for the enemy...'' She drawled taking another sip from her cup. ''Jury's out on that one yet.''
''And what's stopping me from getting all the details from you in one session?''
He stepped from his shadows' coveted embrace just enough to let the flames gleam over the surface of the blade in his hand. The infamous Truth Teller. It was said one couldn't lie under its edge. It was said it was cursed. That its owner was doomed to feel the pain of his victims. That the painfully tight and scarred skin on his hands was the price the Shadowsinger had to pay for all the pain and suffering he inflicted with it. Briefly, she wondered if the end of that blade was in her near future. If that was how it all ended for her. And how her suffering would translate for him.
She shook those thoughts away. Didn't let herself linger in the sight of him right in front of her for the very first time. Didn't give herself time to appreciate the craftsmanship of the black Illyrian leathers hugging his form. Didn't dwell on the wavy and luscious lock of hair falling over his furrowed brow...
On the specs of green now visible in his eyes...
On the short stubble over his chiseled jaw...
On the silver small hoop on his left earlobe...
And most importantly, she didn't let herself appreciate how well those overworked hands of his fitted the whole look.
Instead, she fixed him with a bored look.
''You bore me, you know that? You have no sense of statecraft.'' With that she stood, ready to put and end to the first of many meetings, she suspected. But not before producing a scroll from one of her butterfly sleeves. ''Tell your High Lord that I am ready to talk, Shadowsinger.''
''What's this?'' He asked receiving the scroll.
''A token of good faith.''