Soujin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
psalm_onethirtyone) wrote2005-09-03 01:49 am
psalm_onethirtyone) wrote2005-09-03 01:49 am
"You Seemed So Like a Faerie Then..."
Dearest Manon,
I said I would be good and not post at 12:01. I have restrained myself precisely one hour and forty-eight minutes.
...I think my excuse is that you'll get to see this as soon as you get up and come online. So! ^_____^
I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful happy birthday. I love you so much, and I already said most of what I wanted to say in the card, so it'll all be redundant to put it here again, but--to put it shortly, so as to avoid too much repetition--you're the most special, wonderful person, and I love you so, and I hope you are awfully, awfully happy to-day. <33333 Because you deserve it so much. You truly do.
You amazing woman, God. I am so lucky to know you.
I plan to celebrate your birthday by watching Moll Flanders and dying multiple deaths.
Also, here is your presentfic. ^___^
Zara/Liberation, beta-read by four benevolent persons, edit-checked by one, produced for consumer satisfaction, if anything is defective with this product feel free to send it back and receive a full refund, &c &c &c I love you posting now before I back out la!
Waiting
Before, Zara slept wherever Florian was. Inside or outside his door--outside more often, where she could keep a sort of watch, and they didn't have to mention that she never left him. Nobody else mentioned it. Someone had once, she remembered. She had given the man--boy, really--a furious look and told him it was none of his damn business where she stayed. Florian did not say anything at all.
On the ship back to Westmark, leaving him behind in Regia, she wandered around at night, leaning over the railing of the ship until her hair fell down and got misted with spray, leaning her bony shoulders against wooden walls and doors, standing on deck and muttering softly to herself, folding her arms or clenching her hands in her skirts. There was nothing to do. Her hair had begun to grow long again, and she cut it with the second mate's pocket knife, throwing the tangled red mess into the sea. For a day her head felt lighter, and she sat in everyone's way and angrily watched the sails poking out before the wind.
She was in Westmark for one week with Theo's people. She was in Westmark one week. The first night, Theo and his girl--Zara would not call her the queen--offered her a spot in the room in the back of the pawnshop, but she refused it. She sat behind a counter where no one could see her, a few loose objects sticking into her back, and let her head fall back against a drawer. It was stupid and uncomfortable, but she secretly didn't know what else to do, or really what to do. The next day one of Theo's people prodded her awake.
"Can't sit there all day."
"I was listening. What time is it?" She squinted at him, pushing her hair back from her face. Now that it was short, it didn't pin as easily.
"Nine o'clock. I nearly fell on you. Up."
Zara glared. "I know you."
"I know you. Get up."
"I don't have to do a thing because you tell me. The only person who can order me around--"
He took her arm and pulled her to her feet, knocking her back slightly against the counter. "You're just the same."
"Good."
Suddenly he gave a short laugh, short but real. "My name is Liberation now."
"Lovely. Mine's still Zara."
"Firedrake?"
"Stock is dead. I don't use his name. You know who I am."
"Tell me what you're doing out here."
"I was sleeping," she said, eyeing him. He was still the colour of a new bronze statue, still as strong as he had been when he fought for Florian. His face was as smooth as bronze, too. Nothing remarkable, though. She had been all over Westmark with Florian, seen plenty of recruits, seen plenty of fighters, seen plenty of men who were strong. He was quiet, though, always. He was still quiet. Like Luther, but in a different way. For different reasons. Luther had been old. Zara shot her hand, still out to the side to catch herself against the counter, a vicious look.
"No room?" Liberation asked.
"No good. I don't like this place."
"The pawnshop."
"Westmark."
He frowned at her.
"I stay where Florian stays," she said sharply. "Florian's in Regia."
"Fool."
Zara blazed. "The hell do--"
He cut her off by shaking his head and putting his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but he evidently had expected it, because he kept his palm cupped and out of reach. "All right. You can't stay out here. People walk into this place. It's a shop. It does business. You'll stay with me."
"Like hell I will," she said, finally wrenching his hand away. "Like hell!"
"You can't stay here."
"Then I'll stay in the back!"
"You won't. I'm closer to the Juliana. You'll be where you need to be to fight."
"What in the blazes are you two doing? Have I interrupted a romantic tryst?"
"Nothing romantic about it," Liberation said tonelessly, turning to look at Red Cockade. "Why're you here?"
"Alma wants to see her."
"Where?"
"With Old Kasperl. Now."
Zara slid her thin, sharp body along the counter and out of Liberation's reach quickly. "I'm going." She went out like a flame. Red Cockade raised her eyebrows at Liberation.
"She's a creature, isn't she?"
"I like her." He raised his shoulders and Red Cockade laughed.
"You would. Well, try not to lose an eye."
~~~
Ingo wouldn't let her sleep in the front of the pawnshop after the first night. Zara cursed, complained, and would have wandered around Marianstat the way she had on board the ship, but she wasn't stupid, and it wasn't safe to be out on the streets. It would be dangerous for an innocent woman; for Zara, or any of Theo's people, it was like trying to get killed or imprisoned.
The back of the pawnshop was divided into three rooms, one where Ingo and anybody who was one of his slept, one where food could be made, one where extra items for the shop were kept. The cellar below was where Theo's girl's people came for council and where half a dozen of them stayed all the time. Zara explored all the rooms, but there were always too many people about, and she still stood about awkwardly with no one to watch. There were no doors to guard here.
She was in Westmark for one week. For one week. On the third day, Liberation found her in a corner of the cellar with her hands pressed against the wall, gritting her teeth and staring at a crack.
"What's wrong?" His voice had a hint of curiosity and amusement--self-pity was a waste of time, but there she was, up to her short red hair in it. She curled her lip, not turning towards him.
"If I scream, someone outside will hear."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I hate it here."
"Stay with me. Closer to the Juliana," as though that would coax her.
"Why should I? What'll that do?"
"Nothing. Closer to the Juliana."
She snarled. "Damn loose ends."
"Come on."
Slowly, Zara pulled her hands back from the wall and clenched them. Her black skirts rustled softly when she moved. Liberation watched her levelly, without smiling, but not displeased, waiting.
"How close to the Juliana?" she asked suspiciously.
"Close. Come see."
She followed him out.
~~
The fourth night she sat down outside his door, stretching her bony wrists and leaning back uncomfortably into the corner made by the doorframe and door. There was a hall that led to a door that led to outside, and three rooms between them. Liberation's window looked onto one wall of the Juliana. She wondered irritably what fool had thought it a good idea to build a living-place right so close to the castle wall that all you could see from the window was grey stone, but shrugged after a moment. It was better for them.
She waited all night, pretending suddenly for no reason that Florian was behind the door she leaned on, that she was watching the hall for him, that in the morning he would call her in and tell her the day's work. She'd go, she'd talk to Theo, plan with his girl, come back to tell Florian she'd done one thing, get sent off for another, and by night be back again. He might tell her she'd done good work, or he might not; she'd sit down outside the door again and wait.
After a moment she told herself she was an idiot, a fool, a stupid girl who was behaving even more stupidly than usual. Like some kitten of a girl dreaming of her sweetheart, and if that weren't enough, making it all up, because behind the door she leaned on there was only Liberation. Idiot, she whispered fiercely.
The fifth night she sat down outside the door again to wait. She had sat for perhaps ten minutes when the door opened behind her.
She fell back and caught herself just in time, glaring upside down at Liberation's expressionless bronze face.
"What the hell was that?"
"You're in the way. Come in." There was something to his voice to suggest that 'in the way' meant 'where somebody who shouldn't will see you'. It annoyed her.
"You're the only person fool enough to live here."
"Almost-empty places are good for people who want to steal and kill. Someone might come. In."
"No one will kill me before I'm damn good and ready for it."
"You're not a fool."
"That's right."
"In."
"I like it here."
He looked at her for a moment, then bent, lifted her easily, put her down unceremoniously on the other side of the door, and shut it before he turned back to her. Zara was snarling.
"It was dangerous," he said, fixing her with a look that was nearly simple explanation.
"I don't want your hands on me. If I want to stay outside the door, I can--"
"It's no good to us if you get killed, and worse if you get us found out."
"I won't get killed until I say so, and you can all go to hell."
"You can have the bed."
"--What?"
Liberation smiled slightly. "I like to sleep on the floor."
"I always sleep on the floor." She turned away sharply and bundled herself into the nearest corner, tucking her head into her arms, folded over her knees, like some big, awkward, black and red bird putting its head under its wing. He lay down beside the bed and rested his arms behind his head. It was a comfortable way to sleep, if a little vulnerable. When Zara woke the next morning, she was stiff and ached all over.
~~~
She was in Westmark for one week. One week. She always kept busy during the day, but on the sixth day there was a sudden, tense calm. Theo and his girl stayed in the cellar, talking constantly, sometimes arguing briefly, but not very loudly. Theo and his girl got on well. The loud count fellow Theo had been after rescuing in Nierkeeping was proud of them and liked to talk about how they were meant for each other, in a confidential, pleased tone. Zara hated that.
Florian was coming to Westmark, Florian was coming back, soon enough, very soon, but she was staying with Liberation, and now she didn't even guard his door. There was nothing to pretend, no way for her to be a fool except the usual ways, that she wanted Florian, that she wanted him to give her orders, that she wanted him to be there so she could be his panther, his hellcat, his second, whatever people called her. She was sick of Theo and his girl. She was sick of all of them. It was not Westmark that was important. It was Florian.
That sixth night, Liberation pushed her inside before she had a chance to sit in the hall.
"You're not a fool," he repeated.
"Suppose I am," she answered furiously.
"You're not."
"Don't push me around. I'll claw you."
He suddenly fingered her short hair, his bronze skin showing between the thick strands of red. "I'm not afraid of you," he said. He wasn't challenging. He was only saying. Zara pulled his hand away.
"You should be afraid of me. I'm not a nice girl. I'm a bitter, ugly, penned-up fool, but I have long nails, and if you open my cage I'll come out and tear you to bits. Leave me alone. I'm waiting for Florian, and I won't die before he comes back, so it doesn't matter what the hell I do, I won't get killed, so let me do what I want. I'm sitting out there."
"What for?"
"I'm waiting for Florian, damn you!"
"No."
She reached for the door, but he caught her wrist and looked at her, his face blank again. She couldn't twist away, and with her free hand she struck at him, but he avoided her. "Let me go!"
"You can wait in here."
"Let go!"
"It's not as important as you make it, inside or out."
"How would you know--?"
He kissed her. He took her other wrist and pinned her hands down at her sides, rustling her skirts softly. For one moment Zara thought wildly if her hands were not free she'd bite him, she'd do something, she'd kill him, and then he let her go. The first thing she did was grab her wrists.
"You hurt me."
"I'm sorry." Liberation tilted his head.
He was much taller than she was. He was bigger, taller, stronger. She was too sharp, too thin. He had hurt her because she had been tugging away hard enough to wrench her arms, and she cursed and folded them over her chest. They stood for a moment; he didn't move, and she, panting a little, watched him angrily.
"That was stupid," she said finally.
He shrugged. "I surprised you."
"I didn't mean me." She surprised herself at how calm she sounded. She couldn't tell from listening to herself that she was standing there waiting to hurt him suddenly, as soon as she could think of something painful enough. "What in hell was that for?"
His face was still expressionless. "You're right. You could tear me to bits. But I'm not afraid of you."
Zara spat.
He caught her hand and kissed her again.
"Florian--!" was the only word she could get out, too angry to think of anything to say, too angry to say it. Liberation watched her. There was a long, silent moment, when she twisted her hands in her skirts and raised them to her face, which had gone white; reached back to take hold of her hair steadyingly and found it was too short to hold on to. "You don't have any idea what you did. I hate to be surprised, do you know why? Because I can't stop you, all right, not when you catch me not being careful. And I hate to be touched. I hate it. The only person who can put a hand on me is Florian, and I'd claw him if I didn't know who it was, but I wouldn't, because I'll always know Florian anywhere, even if I can't see him. And you surprised me and you touched me and you kissed me, and I hate you. I'm poky, but I'm not weak." She twisted the word disgustedly. "I know damn well what I'm doing. If you ever touch me, if you ever kiss me, I'll tear your hands off so you can't touch me again." She stopped. Then, suddenly, in a much softer voice, she added, "I don't see why in hell you did it, anyway."
He moved closer, thoughtfully, and she didn't step back. "You're strong."
"You're an idiot."
"Maybe."
"What kind of reason is that?"
"Good enough."
"It's stupid."
"Like sitting outside waiting for someone to catch you because Florian's not here." Liberation began to finger her hair again. This time Zara glared, but didn't stop him. "You can't see the harbour. No point."
"Not to you, then."
"Stay here."
"Only because I'm sick of you pushing me around when I try."
"That's fine."
She stood for a little longer, as he curled his hand through her short tangles; then she pulled away, putting her thin shoulders back proudly. He lifted a few strands of hair from his fingers.
"Stop that. I'm sleeping now." She retreated to her corner and curled up. A little while later Liberation sat down by her, and began to stroke her head carefully. He had big, strong hands, and they made it awkward to do anything carefully, and it was difficult not to wake her up, but he succeeded; or, at least, she never opened her eyes and demanded he leave her alone.
~~~
There was only one week for Westmark for Zara. She only spent one week there, spitting and hissing and trapped. On the seventh day, the Ankari killed her.
Florian was still in Regia.
Theo's people had an idea, but Red Cockade confirmed it. She'd heard from Oracle, who'd got it from Old Kasperl's two brats, that Alma had been captured and the red-haired girl from Florian was killed. When she told Liberation, he nodded.
"Bad," Red Cockade said thoughtfully. "We could've used her. At least she didn't give us away. It's Alma I'm worried about."
"She didn't wait."
Red Cockade looked at him. "What?"
"Florian won't be pleased. She was waiting for him."
He was curling and uncurling one strand of red hair around his finger, over and over, slowly. Red Cockade shook her head. "Left you both behind, then."
"Only him." Liberation looked as impassive as ever. "I let her go. She told me to." He paused. "I wish..."
"What?"
"I wish I'd let her sleep outside the door. She couldn't see him coming."
The strand of hair broke, and he let the pieces drop.
~
Love, Soujin
I said I would be good and not post at 12:01. I have restrained myself precisely one hour and forty-eight minutes.
...I think my excuse is that you'll get to see this as soon as you get up and come online. So! ^_____^
I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful happy birthday. I love you so much, and I already said most of what I wanted to say in the card, so it'll all be redundant to put it here again, but--to put it shortly, so as to avoid too much repetition--you're the most special, wonderful person, and I love you so, and I hope you are awfully, awfully happy to-day. <33333 Because you deserve it so much. You truly do.
You amazing woman, God. I am so lucky to know you.
I plan to celebrate your birthday by watching Moll Flanders and dying multiple deaths.
Also, here is your presentfic. ^___^
Zara/Liberation, beta-read by four benevolent persons, edit-checked by one, produced for consumer satisfaction, if anything is defective with this product feel free to send it back and receive a full refund, &c &c &c I love you posting now before I back out la!
Waiting
Before, Zara slept wherever Florian was. Inside or outside his door--outside more often, where she could keep a sort of watch, and they didn't have to mention that she never left him. Nobody else mentioned it. Someone had once, she remembered. She had given the man--boy, really--a furious look and told him it was none of his damn business where she stayed. Florian did not say anything at all.
On the ship back to Westmark, leaving him behind in Regia, she wandered around at night, leaning over the railing of the ship until her hair fell down and got misted with spray, leaning her bony shoulders against wooden walls and doors, standing on deck and muttering softly to herself, folding her arms or clenching her hands in her skirts. There was nothing to do. Her hair had begun to grow long again, and she cut it with the second mate's pocket knife, throwing the tangled red mess into the sea. For a day her head felt lighter, and she sat in everyone's way and angrily watched the sails poking out before the wind.
She was in Westmark for one week with Theo's people. She was in Westmark one week. The first night, Theo and his girl--Zara would not call her the queen--offered her a spot in the room in the back of the pawnshop, but she refused it. She sat behind a counter where no one could see her, a few loose objects sticking into her back, and let her head fall back against a drawer. It was stupid and uncomfortable, but she secretly didn't know what else to do, or really what to do. The next day one of Theo's people prodded her awake.
"Can't sit there all day."
"I was listening. What time is it?" She squinted at him, pushing her hair back from her face. Now that it was short, it didn't pin as easily.
"Nine o'clock. I nearly fell on you. Up."
Zara glared. "I know you."
"I know you. Get up."
"I don't have to do a thing because you tell me. The only person who can order me around--"
He took her arm and pulled her to her feet, knocking her back slightly against the counter. "You're just the same."
"Good."
Suddenly he gave a short laugh, short but real. "My name is Liberation now."
"Lovely. Mine's still Zara."
"Firedrake?"
"Stock is dead. I don't use his name. You know who I am."
"Tell me what you're doing out here."
"I was sleeping," she said, eyeing him. He was still the colour of a new bronze statue, still as strong as he had been when he fought for Florian. His face was as smooth as bronze, too. Nothing remarkable, though. She had been all over Westmark with Florian, seen plenty of recruits, seen plenty of fighters, seen plenty of men who were strong. He was quiet, though, always. He was still quiet. Like Luther, but in a different way. For different reasons. Luther had been old. Zara shot her hand, still out to the side to catch herself against the counter, a vicious look.
"No room?" Liberation asked.
"No good. I don't like this place."
"The pawnshop."
"Westmark."
He frowned at her.
"I stay where Florian stays," she said sharply. "Florian's in Regia."
"Fool."
Zara blazed. "The hell do--"
He cut her off by shaking his head and putting his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but he evidently had expected it, because he kept his palm cupped and out of reach. "All right. You can't stay out here. People walk into this place. It's a shop. It does business. You'll stay with me."
"Like hell I will," she said, finally wrenching his hand away. "Like hell!"
"You can't stay here."
"Then I'll stay in the back!"
"You won't. I'm closer to the Juliana. You'll be where you need to be to fight."
"What in the blazes are you two doing? Have I interrupted a romantic tryst?"
"Nothing romantic about it," Liberation said tonelessly, turning to look at Red Cockade. "Why're you here?"
"Alma wants to see her."
"Where?"
"With Old Kasperl. Now."
Zara slid her thin, sharp body along the counter and out of Liberation's reach quickly. "I'm going." She went out like a flame. Red Cockade raised her eyebrows at Liberation.
"She's a creature, isn't she?"
"I like her." He raised his shoulders and Red Cockade laughed.
"You would. Well, try not to lose an eye."
Ingo wouldn't let her sleep in the front of the pawnshop after the first night. Zara cursed, complained, and would have wandered around Marianstat the way she had on board the ship, but she wasn't stupid, and it wasn't safe to be out on the streets. It would be dangerous for an innocent woman; for Zara, or any of Theo's people, it was like trying to get killed or imprisoned.
The back of the pawnshop was divided into three rooms, one where Ingo and anybody who was one of his slept, one where food could be made, one where extra items for the shop were kept. The cellar below was where Theo's girl's people came for council and where half a dozen of them stayed all the time. Zara explored all the rooms, but there were always too many people about, and she still stood about awkwardly with no one to watch. There were no doors to guard here.
She was in Westmark for one week. For one week. On the third day, Liberation found her in a corner of the cellar with her hands pressed against the wall, gritting her teeth and staring at a crack.
"What's wrong?" His voice had a hint of curiosity and amusement--self-pity was a waste of time, but there she was, up to her short red hair in it. She curled her lip, not turning towards him.
"If I scream, someone outside will hear."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I hate it here."
"Stay with me. Closer to the Juliana," as though that would coax her.
"Why should I? What'll that do?"
"Nothing. Closer to the Juliana."
She snarled. "Damn loose ends."
"Come on."
Slowly, Zara pulled her hands back from the wall and clenched them. Her black skirts rustled softly when she moved. Liberation watched her levelly, without smiling, but not displeased, waiting.
"How close to the Juliana?" she asked suspiciously.
"Close. Come see."
She followed him out.
The fourth night she sat down outside his door, stretching her bony wrists and leaning back uncomfortably into the corner made by the doorframe and door. There was a hall that led to a door that led to outside, and three rooms between them. Liberation's window looked onto one wall of the Juliana. She wondered irritably what fool had thought it a good idea to build a living-place right so close to the castle wall that all you could see from the window was grey stone, but shrugged after a moment. It was better for them.
She waited all night, pretending suddenly for no reason that Florian was behind the door she leaned on, that she was watching the hall for him, that in the morning he would call her in and tell her the day's work. She'd go, she'd talk to Theo, plan with his girl, come back to tell Florian she'd done one thing, get sent off for another, and by night be back again. He might tell her she'd done good work, or he might not; she'd sit down outside the door again and wait.
After a moment she told herself she was an idiot, a fool, a stupid girl who was behaving even more stupidly than usual. Like some kitten of a girl dreaming of her sweetheart, and if that weren't enough, making it all up, because behind the door she leaned on there was only Liberation. Idiot, she whispered fiercely.
The fifth night she sat down outside the door again to wait. She had sat for perhaps ten minutes when the door opened behind her.
She fell back and caught herself just in time, glaring upside down at Liberation's expressionless bronze face.
"What the hell was that?"
"You're in the way. Come in." There was something to his voice to suggest that 'in the way' meant 'where somebody who shouldn't will see you'. It annoyed her.
"You're the only person fool enough to live here."
"Almost-empty places are good for people who want to steal and kill. Someone might come. In."
"No one will kill me before I'm damn good and ready for it."
"You're not a fool."
"That's right."
"In."
"I like it here."
He looked at her for a moment, then bent, lifted her easily, put her down unceremoniously on the other side of the door, and shut it before he turned back to her. Zara was snarling.
"It was dangerous," he said, fixing her with a look that was nearly simple explanation.
"I don't want your hands on me. If I want to stay outside the door, I can--"
"It's no good to us if you get killed, and worse if you get us found out."
"I won't get killed until I say so, and you can all go to hell."
"You can have the bed."
"--What?"
Liberation smiled slightly. "I like to sleep on the floor."
"I always sleep on the floor." She turned away sharply and bundled herself into the nearest corner, tucking her head into her arms, folded over her knees, like some big, awkward, black and red bird putting its head under its wing. He lay down beside the bed and rested his arms behind his head. It was a comfortable way to sleep, if a little vulnerable. When Zara woke the next morning, she was stiff and ached all over.
She was in Westmark for one week. One week. She always kept busy during the day, but on the sixth day there was a sudden, tense calm. Theo and his girl stayed in the cellar, talking constantly, sometimes arguing briefly, but not very loudly. Theo and his girl got on well. The loud count fellow Theo had been after rescuing in Nierkeeping was proud of them and liked to talk about how they were meant for each other, in a confidential, pleased tone. Zara hated that.
Florian was coming to Westmark, Florian was coming back, soon enough, very soon, but she was staying with Liberation, and now she didn't even guard his door. There was nothing to pretend, no way for her to be a fool except the usual ways, that she wanted Florian, that she wanted him to give her orders, that she wanted him to be there so she could be his panther, his hellcat, his second, whatever people called her. She was sick of Theo and his girl. She was sick of all of them. It was not Westmark that was important. It was Florian.
That sixth night, Liberation pushed her inside before she had a chance to sit in the hall.
"You're not a fool," he repeated.
"Suppose I am," she answered furiously.
"You're not."
"Don't push me around. I'll claw you."
He suddenly fingered her short hair, his bronze skin showing between the thick strands of red. "I'm not afraid of you," he said. He wasn't challenging. He was only saying. Zara pulled his hand away.
"You should be afraid of me. I'm not a nice girl. I'm a bitter, ugly, penned-up fool, but I have long nails, and if you open my cage I'll come out and tear you to bits. Leave me alone. I'm waiting for Florian, and I won't die before he comes back, so it doesn't matter what the hell I do, I won't get killed, so let me do what I want. I'm sitting out there."
"What for?"
"I'm waiting for Florian, damn you!"
"No."
She reached for the door, but he caught her wrist and looked at her, his face blank again. She couldn't twist away, and with her free hand she struck at him, but he avoided her. "Let me go!"
"You can wait in here."
"Let go!"
"It's not as important as you make it, inside or out."
"How would you know--?"
He kissed her. He took her other wrist and pinned her hands down at her sides, rustling her skirts softly. For one moment Zara thought wildly if her hands were not free she'd bite him, she'd do something, she'd kill him, and then he let her go. The first thing she did was grab her wrists.
"You hurt me."
"I'm sorry." Liberation tilted his head.
He was much taller than she was. He was bigger, taller, stronger. She was too sharp, too thin. He had hurt her because she had been tugging away hard enough to wrench her arms, and she cursed and folded them over her chest. They stood for a moment; he didn't move, and she, panting a little, watched him angrily.
"That was stupid," she said finally.
He shrugged. "I surprised you."
"I didn't mean me." She surprised herself at how calm she sounded. She couldn't tell from listening to herself that she was standing there waiting to hurt him suddenly, as soon as she could think of something painful enough. "What in hell was that for?"
His face was still expressionless. "You're right. You could tear me to bits. But I'm not afraid of you."
Zara spat.
He caught her hand and kissed her again.
"Florian--!" was the only word she could get out, too angry to think of anything to say, too angry to say it. Liberation watched her. There was a long, silent moment, when she twisted her hands in her skirts and raised them to her face, which had gone white; reached back to take hold of her hair steadyingly and found it was too short to hold on to. "You don't have any idea what you did. I hate to be surprised, do you know why? Because I can't stop you, all right, not when you catch me not being careful. And I hate to be touched. I hate it. The only person who can put a hand on me is Florian, and I'd claw him if I didn't know who it was, but I wouldn't, because I'll always know Florian anywhere, even if I can't see him. And you surprised me and you touched me and you kissed me, and I hate you. I'm poky, but I'm not weak." She twisted the word disgustedly. "I know damn well what I'm doing. If you ever touch me, if you ever kiss me, I'll tear your hands off so you can't touch me again." She stopped. Then, suddenly, in a much softer voice, she added, "I don't see why in hell you did it, anyway."
He moved closer, thoughtfully, and she didn't step back. "You're strong."
"You're an idiot."
"Maybe."
"What kind of reason is that?"
"Good enough."
"It's stupid."
"Like sitting outside waiting for someone to catch you because Florian's not here." Liberation began to finger her hair again. This time Zara glared, but didn't stop him. "You can't see the harbour. No point."
"Not to you, then."
"Stay here."
"Only because I'm sick of you pushing me around when I try."
"That's fine."
She stood for a little longer, as he curled his hand through her short tangles; then she pulled away, putting her thin shoulders back proudly. He lifted a few strands of hair from his fingers.
"Stop that. I'm sleeping now." She retreated to her corner and curled up. A little while later Liberation sat down by her, and began to stroke her head carefully. He had big, strong hands, and they made it awkward to do anything carefully, and it was difficult not to wake her up, but he succeeded; or, at least, she never opened her eyes and demanded he leave her alone.
There was only one week for Westmark for Zara. She only spent one week there, spitting and hissing and trapped. On the seventh day, the Ankari killed her.
Florian was still in Regia.
Theo's people had an idea, but Red Cockade confirmed it. She'd heard from Oracle, who'd got it from Old Kasperl's two brats, that Alma had been captured and the red-haired girl from Florian was killed. When she told Liberation, he nodded.
"Bad," Red Cockade said thoughtfully. "We could've used her. At least she didn't give us away. It's Alma I'm worried about."
"She didn't wait."
Red Cockade looked at him. "What?"
"Florian won't be pleased. She was waiting for him."
He was curling and uncurling one strand of red hair around his finger, over and over, slowly. Red Cockade shook her head. "Left you both behind, then."
"Only him." Liberation looked as impassive as ever. "I let her go. She told me to." He paused. "I wish..."
"What?"
"I wish I'd let her sleep outside the door. She couldn't see him coming."
The strand of hair broke, and he let the pieces drop.
~
Love, Soujin
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*CLING*
Thank you.
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