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The House of Halovar was not in disarray.
Every step of Zebani Halovar led through the same line as it did every day – from the chamber with the chained angel to her own rooms, with Cruelty by her side.
The filament was flowing as usual, leaving from Dol-Makjar to the people in need of it; her uncle’s hounds barking outside of the windows. And yet, the House of Halovar was buzzing like an angry nest of wasps. All because Wicander went missing.
Zebani scoffed. Went missing implied Wicander’s incompetence even in his attempt to… run? Or whatever his intentions were, outside of freeing that warrior from their care and leaving the city along with his Aspirant. The information of Wicander’s disappearance was still held under the roof of Villa Aurora, although if she were to guess, the Photarch would eventually pin his disappearance on that Pridesire fellow.
Not that her brother would know how to plan all of this by himself; he never needed to. All of his future had always been decided for him.
“It is a shame, is it not?” Cruelty said by her side. “All the effort and care for Light Priest Wicander and yet he was so cruelly snatched away. My heart aches for you, my Lady.”
Her voice was like honey, dripping with sweetness and ready for the dumb flies to sit in. Zebani was no fly. Her Aspirant’s eyes were shining with light Zebani knew well: whenever they pulled a chain too tight, or pressed the metal deeper into Aetheon’s skin, Crulety’s eyes did the same, as her smile grew more pleased with every thrash the angel made against his confinement.
“Yes. A tragedy,” she said, leading them both to her chambers and closing the doors. “Do you not fear for your sister’s fate?”
“Oh, yes, sweet Tyranny. She is innocent to the nature of this world, as is your brother. Yet I hope her journey proves fruitful for the Creed in the end. This might be the longest of her outings yet, but I am sure she will make fast friends just as she did on her last one.”
“Fast friends?” Zebani raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware of any fast friends of Aspirant Tyranny.”
“Did she not mention it to the dear Photarch?” Cruelty’ said as she helped her undress from her filament-stained garments. “She’d told us she had made a friend on her recent trip to the city with young sir Wicander. The name was Thaisha if I am not mistaken.”
A friend named Thaisha? And relevant to the recent outing of Wicander’s. There was one person who would fulfil both requirements.
Zebani had to bite her lip to stop her lips from forming a smile matching her Aspirant's. Her dear brother was making acquaintances in the company of godkillers.
If that was true, then her brother was not just way over his head: he signed his own death sentence. Either his Aspirant mingled without his supervision or with it. A servant of the family Halovar and a friend with the family of godkillers? If Grandmother found out, she would throw the most spectacular fit at least.
Zebani had no intention of being the first in line of the Photarch’s wrath, but there were others who might just willingly offer the information she sought.
And yet… Grandmother’s wrath might then just fall upon Tyranny’s head and leave Wicander untouched. The sweet little Wicky who was oh-so-innocent in the ways of the world that he truly believed the crap they were spouting to the lowlifes who were barely worthy of kneeling before them, let alone a made-up deity. Wicander, who would be brought back into the house, married to secure the position of the House, and go back into his nice position of the representative face while she would be stuck day and night sapping the monstrous blood that flowed in her veins too.
She felt a taste of bile on her tongue. Cruelty was watching her closely from her left. Neither of them moved a muscle.
“Aspirant Cruelty,” she lined her voice with the cold steel she was trained to address servants with. “Is there any reason you’ve withheld this piece of information from the knowledge of the Creed?”
“My lady Halovar!” Cruelty put her hand upon her heart and took a step back. “I would dream of no such thing. My cause is yours, as you know, Lady Zebani. I’ve merely awaited the suitable moment to bestow it upon you. After all, my contract is with you, not with the Photarch.”
“You’ve done well, Aspirant. I am afraid that at the present my brother’s whereabouts is a sensitive subject for all. Any details that would only lead the Photarch astray should not reach her ears. Is there anyone else who would be privy to this information?”
“My sisters, Enmity and Agony. Although, as great their devotion to the Light is, their brightness has not made itself known just yet. But it might in due time, if someone gives their memory the right push. I could ensure that moment comes later.”
Zebani looked at her. At their core, they were very similar, weren’t they? One from above the surface and one from below, the difference merely a generation apart. Her own father seemed more removed from her than the demon before her. Not that she cared to see the man too often.
“It might prove beneficial for the family, if this particular detail escapes them just yet,” she said. “It might just cloud their search for dear Wicander. I shall present it to them myself.”
“Of course. Ever light, ever bright, my lady. Are we not due for an outing ourselves? It is in my understanding that you might be forced to attend more services. I surely do hope the Light of the Creed illuminates as many poor souls as possible.”
“So, I’ve heard. Now come. I need to take a bath before the Photarch demands my presence.”
“Of course, my lady Halovar. How would you like me to run it?”
“Scorching. I want my skin to ache.”
Cruelty bowed her head. "It will be my pleasure.”