“So that’s a no. You haven’t thought it over,” War concluded with a sigh and shook his head slightly. “You have to start looking at the full picture, Jala. You can’t just assume that everyone will play the parts you want them to.”
“Why would they refuse? And how could Ash not be worthy? He has more training than their High Lord has,” Jala countered a bit irritably. She had too much riding on her plans. It was too late for War to pick them apart now. The ball was already in motion.
“And if they do?” War pressed once more.
“Then I will do something else,” Jala snapped, throwing her hands up. “What do you want from me? I have no training in politics. I have no training in intrigue. I’m winging it here, Grandfather, and I’m trying to do my best.”
“Perhaps you should have listened to Vaze’s advice and talked to Valor about your plans. He has training in both of the fields you are professing ignorance of,” War mused. He frowned and fell silent, his gaze on the sky as a deafening clangor filled the city.
“What is that?” Jala asked as she cringed from the noise and covered her ears.
“A knock at your door, Jala. Time to wake up I’m afraid.” War sighed and gave her one last smile as the city around her faded.
“Are you all right, Jala? I knocked but you didn’t answer.” Sovann’s voice was hesitant and from the sound of it he was still at the door.
“Mmph,” Jala replied as her eyes fluttered open. Her face was still partly buried in the pillows and her hair all but blinding her with its tangles.
“Is that a yes?” Sovann asked, sounding a bit confused.
Grumbling incoherently, Jala sat up slowly and pushed her curls back from her face before looking over at Sovann with bleary eyes. She nodded slowly and looked toward the brightly lit window. Legacy had awakened her in the middle of her sleep with his hunger and between that and War’s dream walk, it didn’t feel as though she had slept at all.
“We are supposed to meet with Kithvaryn in one hour. Will you feel up to it by then?” The expression on his face suggested that he highly doubted she could even form a sentence by then.
Jala smirked slightly and nodded, her eyes searching the room for a basin for water. “I need to get cleaned up first,” she mumbled as she reluctantly dragged her legs over the side of the bed. “Can you watch Legacy for me while I get dressed Sovann?” she asked through a yawn.
“Legacy?” Sovann exclaimed moving forward to look down at the sleeping child in her bed. “I thought he was with Wisp? How did he get here? Is Wisp OK?”
His questions came so rapid fire that she didn’t have a chance to answer any of them. She watched him with a bemused expression until she was sure he was done and then nodded slowly. “Wisp is fine, as is Jail. Legacy was brought here by an unexpected guest because of difficulties in Merro,” Jala said slowly and then raised an eyebrow at him. “So will you watch him while I get dressed?”
“Of course. There is a bathing room at the end of the hall if you want it. Would be nice if there was a bathtub in each room but I suppose this fortress is so old it’s bound to be rustic,” Sovann replied as he plopped down lightly on the bed and smiled down at his sleeping nephew. She knew he had more questions on the subject of Wisp and the mysterious guest, but apparently Sovann had given up on her telling him the whole truth when he asked.
“At least it has one available,” Jala mumbled through another yawn and headed off toward the end of the hall. She would have to summon clothes to wear and she hated to waste the magic to do it. There was no other choice, though. If any of her possessions had been salvaged from the ship wreck they were yet to be returned to her. The loss of her clothes wasn’t truly troubling, but the loss of her staff made her sick. It had been so lovingly crafted especially for her and she had lost it on her first outing with it. It was possible that one of Kithvaryn’s scouts had found it, however, and perhaps if they negotiated well today it would be returned.
With a sigh, she opened the door to the bathing room and froze, staring at the half naked form of Valor standing in front of the small mirror. The muscles in his back tensed at the sound of the door and she realized she was still staring with what had to be a stupid expression on her face. “I, uh, didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Jala muttered lamely as she struggled to come up with a reason for her slack-jawed expression. Her eyes fixated on the delicate form of the female devil on one shoulder holding a bloody sword and the crumpled form of an angel on the other shoulder. It was obvious that the tattoo was from his days of debauchery in Sanctuary rather than anything he might have gotten in Arovan.
“That’s because you’ve only seen me in this state of undress once before. I was drunk and you were averting your eyes, as I recall,” Valor replied with a hint of amusement. “It’s not a tattoo I care to show off either. It’s the result of a too much alcohol and too little thinking.” Stepping back from the mirror he grabbed a shirt off the rack behind him and bowed his head to her. “The room is yours,” he said with a motion of his hand toward the bathtub.
Jala nodded slightly, her eyes still following his every move. He had the same lean athletic figure that Finn had possessed with only a bit more muscle. It was the scar on his stomach that was holding her attention, now that he had turned to face her. Every other inch of Valor’s skin was flawless and pale aside from the ragged claw marks. He had earned that wound saving her life and she had never even realized he still bore the scar from it.