And, the other thing was: could it really be counted valid where progress was concerned? Was it really a triumph, in the real world? Or merely a charmed encounter?
Or even worse – what if the method was a double-sided blade meant to seduce him so deeply that the Ambassador could claim him after all, that he might get lost in her charms and fall completely under her spell, willingly hers to do as she wished with. After all, she was wily that way, was she not?
Perhaps it was more innocent than that, I tried to suggest to myself. Perhaps this was a result of me falling short with Tanen these last few days, perhaps well on my way to failing, and the Ambassador had simply taken it upon herself to give things a little push in the right direction.
I could not really begin to say, and so witnessing the encounter only resulted in suspicions and ill feelings stirring themselves up in my gut. I went back to Manor Dorn and finished my chores a little weakly, trying to distract myself yet unable to think of anything else.
When Tanen returned, that evening, I found myself all disoriented in his presence, compelled with the desire to say something to him, yet entirely too fluttery with my own mixed-up feelings to know what to say. I could compose nothing that seemed at all sufficient, at all even necessarily confident in its relevance.
There were contradictory feelings in me, now. I felt inclined to discourage the contact that otherwise I had been trying to encourage. And would continue to encourage, if only I did not have to doubt the Ambassador's motives.
Yet – would I be inclined to encourage it, even then? I wondered. Perhaps I would not, because, unexpected or not, I found myself jealous, and that suggested I had feelings of my own for this man. I may very well find myself not wanting to encourage what I had seen simply because of the vile feelings of jealousy it stirred up in me.
Gods, what kind of person was I? Had I ever really had cause to ask myself that before? Tanen's life was on the line, and I found myself disinclined to continue my cause on his behalf because a darkskin might steal his heart.
It was preposterous. I was ashamed of myself.
Because of my inconveniently mixed feelings, I decided it might be better if I didn't say anything at all. I didn't dare.
But that meant there was no hope of me getting anywhere on my quest to influence him. For the first time, I found myself considering the notion that I might very well have to give this thing up, and leave it in other hands than my own.
T h I r t y N I n e –
The Second Cold I Knew Her By
I returned to the mirror I had brought back from the city, scouring my reflection again, needing to find what others saw, when they looked at me. Needing to meet the eyes of the complicated beast that was the truth inside me. There had to be something there. Some revelation that could point me in the right direction, or reinforce me, or... Anything.
I should not be blind to my own inner workings.
One theory was that it was surely only because I already knew everything there was to know about myself, but recent events had proven that wasn't necessarily absolutely true. And touching the mirror this time, while nothing of my inner workings piped up, I became tickled by another theory, as I thought about it. As I mulled over it and demanded of the gods, Why is this being kept from me?
The theory that perhaps the reason I could not see into myself was because one had to learn about himself – learn about himself, and who he wanted to be. The experience was perhaps a big part of what validated any true essence, any changes or convictions.
I let my fingers fall away, not altogether satisfied, but resigned to the fair wisdom of such.
I did not pull my gaze away as quickly, however. There was still much to be searched, visually, for one who grew and changed and only looked in a mirror every so many years. My gray eyes stared back at me as I sat there, keener than I remembered. Keener in every way – keener with sadness, and hardness, and wisdom, and a determined light that knew not to take joy for granted.
Who are you, Avante? I