Cay hadn’t voiced any sort of response when, like some blathering fool, Nyx had tried to explain himself to her in the cemetery. She hadn’t needed to say anything, of course; Nyx had been able to see and feel her replies in the ways she had moved and breathed and tensed. He knew the feelings, himself. Had long ago forced himself to forget them because, he thought, they no longer mattered to who he was… what he had become… and, to that end, he was grateful that her feelings had gone unspoken. Nyx wasn’t certain, though, as he and Cay drifted away from the necropolis and moved northward through the city, that he hadn’t hoped for more from her… or from himself…

Ya sii’naa i’nwalmaer, hm?

…and that made him more uncomfortable than even the ache and pull of his injuries. So he was glad, again, that the subject had been let to fall away at his almost anxious turning of both their thoughts to the job at hand.

Nyx’s eyes kept in constant motion, scanning the streets and alleys ahead of them as they walked, but his attentions, otherwise, were keen to the plan she had set for herself. Stalking the Bolstoii girl would be fruitless, of course, given yesterday’s events, the ‘confessions’ they had made in those regards, and the likely consequences that would result, so Cayrimsa had made the decision that she would try and get her hands on the manifests that Aelion was so interested in having Kiki procure for him…

“… Dmitrova will likely be informing someone of what I said and Aelion will be taken in. She’ll be useless as a subject once that happens. I wanted to go finish her job. Aelion wanted to know about cargo passing in and out of Avenon,” Cay had explained, “I want to know why. Perhaps getting those manifests, myself, would shed some light upon the matter.

We might even be able to pull off another ruse, like the one you managed to pull off yesterday morning. Especially if this Taellyn has something appropriate for me to wear…”

A wolfish grin had crept across his lips and his gaze slid in her direction. Nyx had learned on the Gracchus job that Cayrimsa’s thought patterns were far from the erratic and slightly mad ones that often were whispered about in rumor and reputation. He had always known, from the first time he had heard her spoken of and the first time he had stalked her through Drasnia’s streets to watch her work, that she was capable of believable deceptions. Now, though, he came to realize that the threads that she wove into those lies could be as intricately spun as those on her loom. He nodded his approval and set his own thoughts along the path that Cay’s had laid out, working through details that might need to be addressed, complications that might arise, and contingency plans that could be brought into play should those complications turn things askew.

“Taellyn will have something appropriate, I have no doubt,” the mith’ganni assured her as he peeled the rind from the orange, “The old crone is not the favored seamstress amongst the nobility, of course, but her talent surpasses that of any of the round-eared tailors who claim that so-called distinction, and her designs are far more durable.” He poked a section of the orange past his lips and chewed thoughtfully as his gaze tracked to where the dome of the Trade Bureau rose above the surrounding buildings south and east of here, his mind chasing minute details through the layered complexity of what this simple shadowing assignment had become…

Dmitrova wanted Kharinya shadowed and her activities detailed… he must have had suspicions of his own that the girl was immersed in something that would likely embarrass if not ruin her father and, given the rivalry between he and Styopa, give Vadim some great benefit from whatever that might be… those details have shone us a light on Kharinya’s half-moon lover… pointed us at, of all things, manifests for Bolstoii’s Avenon caravans… What comes out of Avenon, or lies between here and there, that could interest our Captain, so, I wonder? Even more, what interest could some branded stable-boy have in any of it… trade goods… routes… manifests to and from?

…There was much more than a simple professional rivalry or any sort of political maneuvering going on, here, Nyx was more than certain. The layers that had already begun to get peeled away, though, had only alluded to the fact that there were many more beneath to go through before the core of the matter was reached and, if he and Cay were to reach that core, there would be need for much more than simply playing along with the bit-parts that Vadim handed them. The information from the Trade Bureau would be only the beginning, Nyx was certain of it. There would be need to press the stable-boy… need to see more of both Bolstoii’s and Dmitrova’s private records... and the assassin’s mind was well into formulating plans of his own on how he might make each of those things happen by the time his breakfast was finished. He hadn’t shared many of these thoughts with Cay… She likely is entertaining similar thoughts, herself, I’ll wager… as the work he had in mind would likely involve more killing and, certainly, more working against Dmitrova and the Hellkites than for them…

Better she not know too much where that is concerned, he thought, tossing the orange peel away and glancing at Cay as they approached Taellyn’s shop, for her own sake.

The bell that hung over the doorway of the tiny store tinkled as they entered and, instinctually, Nyx reached up a hand to silence it, his eyes quickly sweeping the place before settling on the old elven woman who, until now, was intent on the garment she had been sewing.

“Ahhh,” the silver eyed woman beamed as her gaze fell on him, “Steppe son, you return.” Taellyn set the garment she had been working on aside and rose from her seat.  “Need that coat mended again? It is covered in blood, but I can fix it for you,” she prattled, her smile widening all the more as her attentions shifted to Cay, “Ohhh… and I see you brought a lady friend with you?”

Nyx rolled his eyes a bit at the Steppe son comment – it had been Taellyn’s way, for longer than the mith’ganni cared to remember, of trying to remind him that he was not where or what he should be. “I can wash the blood out on my own,” he assured the wood-elf as he stepped further into the shop, “it is not I who needs your services but my partner here…”

“Partner, is it,” Taellyn grinned, one slender brow lifting a bit as her silver eyes danced between the tow, “when has the Steppe Son ever taken a partner since leaving the plains, I wonder?”

The mith’ganni offered another rolling of his yellow eyes at that and waved the elder woman’s attentions toward Cay.

Taellyn winked knowingly at Nyx and focused on Cay once again; “Well deary what is it that I can do for you?” Her head cocked slightly to the left as she recognized the cloak draped over the half-elf’s shoulders as the same one she had fashioned for the Steppe Son some years ago; “Remarkable how well that cloak fits to you, that was a custom job…”

It was Nyx’s turn to grin a bit as Cay squeaked out her response; ““I’m just borrowing…”

He watched the two of them for a moment, almost chuckling as Taellyn began hovering about Cay like a humming bird, and the corners of his mouth ticking upwards into a faint smile as the two pattered back and forth in elven over some disagreement as to colors and threadwork. He couldn’t help but wonder at the vehemence with which Cay protested the color that the old seamstress suggested. For her part, though, Taellyn accepted the other woman’s refusal graciously and, even, with a bit of humor.

“Hmm… yes… I see,” Taellyn nodded; her eyes and fingers, having dutifully explored Cayrimsa’s ruined dress, pulled away from the garment and gestured towards a doorway at the back of the shopfront, “Come along then dear, I think I have something for you.

“And you,” The older woman’s eyes moved to Nyx as she ushered the younger to the back of the shop, “I know where all the pockets are on that jacket, if anything appears to be missing when I come back out I will empty out every last one of them before you leave here.”

Raising his hands in a gesture of compliance, the mith’ganni returned the old woman’s grin. “As appealing as that all sounds, Dream-weaver,” he smirked as he leaned himself against a wall, “I shall do my best to resist the lure of all these bolts of cloth and such.”

He heaved a sigh as the two women disappeared into the back room, rubbed at an ache or two that had begun to nag more than he cared to admit in the company of others, and, after a moment of being alone in the main room, allowed himself to sink to an almost seated position. His eyes fell into their habit of perpetually scanning his surroundings – moving from the front door, skimming over the shelves and racks and looms and tables that filled the storefront, pausing for a moment on the doorway that led to that backroom, and returning to the front again – as his mind sought to sort out the myriad thoughts and plans that still whirled about therein. Nyx actively tried to avoid those of Cay that didn’t directly relate to the task that they were currently assigned but, standing here in Taellyn’s shop with the old dreamspeaker so close at hand, he found it fairly difficult to keep them from sneaking back to the forefront. Finally, though, after promising himself that he would come back (without Cay) and tell the old woman about the dreams he had experienced recently, he managed to keep them at bay long enough to start pulling the other thoughts together and begin tying the ends of one to the beginnings of another. By the time the muffled murmuring of voices that had been drifting to his ears from the backroom had fallen to silence, Nyx was content that his mindset was, once again, where it should be and that he had solid markers in place for what he would need to get done in the coming days…

The faint rustling of long skirts and the light-as-air footfalls of a practiced step interrupted his slow scanning of the place, called to a halt his finally level perusal of thoughts, and drew his eyes toward the portal to the backroom. Taellyn emerged from that doorway with a blue satin pillow edged with black velvet, which she handed to Nyx with a smirk upon her aged lips.

“From your partner,” she smiled in response to the somewhat befuddled expression that Nyx offered as he warily accepted the cushion, “She said you needed one…”

He couldn’t help but smile at that and his eyes, lit by a warmer light than Taellyn could remember seeing in them for quite some time, flicked towards the backroom for an instant before being called back to the seamstress as she continued to speak. Am I to take this to mean you may come calling again, then, Cay?

“…She is an interesting peredhil,” she observed, evoking a reflexive nod from the mith’ganni, “Like you she has severed the ties with who she is, and with those who could remind her of such.”

The sheepish grin that formed on his lips was as reflexive and unbidden as the nod he’d offered and he almost had to force the look he flashed the old woman, warning her to leave his ghosts alone.

Taellyn, of course, ignored that cautionary glare as she always had and smiled all the more when she detected the effort it had taken him to deliver it. “I wonder if you see yourself when you look at her,” she said softly, “And I wonder if that is why you look upon her with such sympathy and respect…”

The thoughts regarding Cay that he had so carefully set aside moments ago came rushing back to Nyx’s mind at that goading and his mouth opened to reply. The reply didn’t come, though. Before the words could pass from mind to mouth, Cay had emerged from the backroom and the sight of her in her new dress dropped Nyx’s jaw open beyond the point of being able to speak...

Even more beautiful than before, yes?

…Nyx blinked, forced his mouth shut, and tried desperately not to outright ogle this vision that he (let alone anyone else) could scarcely recognize as the “Witch of the Wharf”…

“Well,” the vision spoke with a haughty air that was tempered by the slight smile that played on her lips, “is my servant ready to accompany me on my errands this afternoon?”

Cay offered him back his cloak and all he could do, at first, was offer a dumbstruck nod as he reached out and closed his free hand around the shadowy fabric… he wanted to ignore the cloak and let his fingers move beyond it to touch her and, it seemed, there weren’t any words in common or elven that could possibly come close to giving voice to the thoughts he had in that split second. Taellyn’s scarcely repressed giggle, though, snapped him free enough from the spell that seeing Cay in her new garb had cast over him and he was, at last, able to take the cloak from her arm and wrap it around his own shoulders. “Of course, my mistress,” he managed to say as, fastening the cloak in place, he sketched a bow and offered an accommodating smile, “where you lead, I shall follow, arwenamin.”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer and, then, with no small amount of effort in doing so, finally turned to regard Taellyn. “Splendid work, Dreamweaver,” he said appreciatively, “You did leave her with some coin in her purse, though, I hope?”

“I only ever seek to empty yours, Steppe Son,” the old seamstress grinned back, “and you and I both know the reasons for that…”

“Mmm… something you and I will have need to speak of later, perhaps,” Nyx replied, glancing at Cay again before reaching for the door latch, “There are signs in the stars and… dreams… that I should like to hear your say upon…”

Taellyn’s brows climbed high at that, a look of genuine surprise painting her features. “Dreams?” The woman blinked at him much the way he had blinked at Cay only an instant before. “You?! I was not aware that you even slept, Steppe Son…”

“As I said, Taellyn,” Nyx replied as he pulled the door open, “a conversation to be had another time, yes?”

His moon-hued eyes swept back to Cay, then, and he made a sweeping gesture as he held the door open for her; “Shall we be off about your business then, my Mistress?”

“Nyx! Stop…”

The lingering pain of the wounds and the tug of the fresh sutures that now seamed them shut irritated him… they would slow him, physically, he knew; would whine for his attention even when he should be focused enough to ignore them… what annoyed him more than that, though, was the cacophony of conflicting thoughts… And emotions… that made a tangled mess of his mind at the moment. His own name, spoken in her voice and carried to his ears on the fall breeze that ushered him along the low and narrow canyon of monuments, was the final twist it took, then, to throw a catch in his stride and caused him to nearly falter a step.

Why, he grumbled inwardly, forcing his legs to keep moving, so that I might hear more of your grousing? Be reminded, once more, that I am beneath you and your precious round-eared relations? He didn’t want to stop for her… Wanted, instead, to get this job done and, in the process, set about working towards other plans that he had begun to conjure while strapped to that rack beneath the Hydra’s Breath…

But you do want to stop for her, his inner voice lobbied, and how can you not given what the stars have shown you? Given the tone in her voice as it is now? Listen to her, Nyx… that is not the timbre that it was…

The mith’ganni sighed, his pace slowed, and then stopped. He shoved a hand through his mane, wincing slightly as his arm brushed over the goose-egg that still rose around his eye and cheek, and, at last, glanced back and then turned in the direction of the footsteps that patted his way. Cay was only a few feet away, his cloak wrapped around her shoulders and the purse he had tossed at her still clutched in her hands, her hurried pace having slowed a bit as he had finally turned to face her. It slowed all the more as she drew nearer and stopped all together when she was within less than his arm’s reach. His eyes glittered as they fixed on hers but he still struggled to keep his expression flat.

“Nyx,” she began softly, tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure of the words she had called him to a stop to hear, “I’m tired and I’m sore…”

As am I, elen en cormamin, the fractional nod that he offered by way of a response said.

“…and it wasn’t charity.”  Her fingers unclenched from around the purse as she lifted and then opened it. “I still need money for a dress, and my purse is back home,” beneath the drape of the cloak, Cay’s shoulders lifted in a faint shrug.

One corner of his mouth twitched at that, resisting the urge to climb into what might have become a hopeful smile, but his eyes didn’t leave hers even as those slender fingers dipped into the small pouch and withdrew only a portion of the coin within. Neither did he make any move to take back the remainder when she offered it to him on an outstretched hand… just another short nod was his reply.

“Look…” the word was pushed into the air on a heavy sigh and her amber eyes drifted away to fall on a nearby grave-marker, “I don’t trust people… and they usually live up to my expectations. I waited in Dmitrova’s office for over an hour, listening to you scream down the hall. When they came back I was ready for them to drag me off even deeper into that pit of his. They didn’t. So you can’t explain why I’d help you… and I can’t explain why you didn’t feed me to the wolves. But you didn’t. So… you know a place I can get a decent dress? Isn’t something I usually shop for…” 

Nyx’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer before, at last, falling away to regard the purse that hovered on her upturned palm. The voice had been whispering in his mind’s ear and, bidden by those whispers, the tight-lipped set of his visage softened and the cold glittering of his eyes sparked slightly warmer as they tracked away to the tombstone upon which Cay’s were fixed.

“I do,” he answered her question first, almost absently, “an old seamstress named Taellyn… She made this coat.”

Then, his eyes climbed the invisible slope of her stare to stop again on her face.

“Cay,” he murmured after a lingering study of the cheek his fingers had brushed over not long ago, and the tumble of auburn hair, burnished to almost copper in the light of day, that he had just as recently pushed behind a scar-tipped ear… He found himself chewing his already tender lip when her gaze didn’t lift from the headstone, forced himself to stop, and blew a soft sigh into the space between them as, finally, just one thought amongst the thousands that had been tumbling through his head untangled itself from that maelstrom and presented a clear path.

“Cay,” he said again, one of his hands moving to close over the one of hers that still offered the purse back and his other reaching to cup her chin and gently lift her gaze to his, “I can explain why I did not… how did you say? … feed you to the wolves…” The fingers at her chin traced along the line of her jaw, scarcely touching skin, feathered across her cheek… “But, I do not think it is an explanation that you are ready to hear, yes?” One alabaster finger looped an auburn lock around it while the rest drifted from her cheek and combed her hair back, the one finger whispering over her ear as it tucked the lock behind it. “I have ignored it, even wished… no… fought… against it for what, I have come to realize of late, has been a long time. Even now,” he almost chuckled, “I almost find myself wishing that the explanation was not so clear… or that I could speak it and have you hear it for what it is…” His smile went crooked, almost awkward, and a long forgotten and, once, carefully buried sensation twisted through him… “But it is… and I cannot… for fear that you would not.

I will tell you, though, that what I did, I would never have done for any other but one. And that one has been long amongst the stars… along with the someone else I once was…”

His eyes fell from hers, then, his cheeks warmed and he gave a slow shake of his head realizing how utterly ridiculous he must sound… and look… I have listened to bardsong once too often it seems… He withdrew the one hand from where it lingered along her neck; the other closed her fingers back around the purse and pushed it gently back towards her before also letting loose of her. “Hang on to that,” Nyx grinned, “If Taellyn thinks that I have money, she will assuredly charge extra. You can buy us breakfast from it along the way, if you like.

No oranges, I’m guessing,” he winked and, with some reluctance, Nyx turned and put enough distance between them again that their feet wouldn’t tangle when they walked.

“I suppose,” Nyx said to her after they had walked a bit further towards the edge of the cemetery, “you should tell me your thoughts for our shadowing of the Bolstoii whelp, today. I suppose I should keep a mind to the job at hand while I consider the one which presented itself once I discovered that there was a tunnel under the Hydra, no?”