Black humor found Alander's borrowed face, every nuance of emotion unbefitting of the innocence and youth it had worn when Kendall had claimed it. "You saw him in my sins, Sondra? Black eyes, black hair and a face that could cause the Ukalas to weep. That would be Caius Delucia, Kendall's half uncle." There was a beat while she watched them rise and to Hadrian's magically enhanced vision her aura seemed to brighten, the sick storm sky green of it crowning with a golden glow. If he tried harder, there would be deserts visible in the pockets of Alander's soul, crumbling marble and tarnished gold built with blood and bones of many armed gods. Though the exterior layers of the aura seethed dry as sand tossed by the wind, it was of a sudden most clear that the seed of this creature was neither blackened nor twisted. It was, perhaps, merely beset on all sides by the shadows against which it struggled. "And he is not our enemy," he stated this as if he wanted to believe it, but made no effort to hide that effort by tone or delivery. "But he is not our ally in this either. Not in this re-exchange of bodies. He wants to keep Dastik's partnership for some while longer yet, after all." The chair creaked as if beneath a far greater weight than that her body bore when Alander shoved it with force back under the table. Antony was scrubbing spidery fingers filled with nerves back through his hair, eyes darting from person to person. "You," Alander continued, regard settling on Kendall. Disappointment or disapproval churned in desert born vowels. "He would be disgusted by. He has little patience for cowards and fools. You are a petching god-marked Zaital, child. Stop sniveling and take back what is yours. Antony --" She made a sweeping motion with her hand, "Get the book. We're moving." Alander swiveled on her heel toward the garden door with a sweeping look that made it plain she expected the three to follow. The scar faced Antony disappeared again in to the corridor at a dead run, foot steps sounding as though they were chasing themselves. They were not steps into the green shadows and heady blooms of the grotto when a scream tore through the whistle of the black water wind. It came from within, from the direction the animator's apprentice had disappeared to, and it was crumbling with shock and horror. Alander whirled around, curls bouncing down her back, and steel was suddenly gleaming in her hand. "Jin!" A new voice bellowed from within the house, that of an angered, educated man. "i know what you've done!" Alander's expression rippled before going smooth as glass. Her hand tightened to knuckle whites on the handle of a long dagger. All along the ivy strewn walls of the grotto, statuary began to creak and groan with gravel voices. They stirred the air as they began to move. "Dastik," Alander told them with the weight of an eerie calm. "That is our enemy. Aelius, Sondra, you both bloody well reek of Sylir in your dreams. I suggest if this goes poorly, you be certain to destroy anything you may have on you." She tilted her eyes to Kendall, somewhat thoughtful. Whatever it was she might have said, however, never got uttered as a nude Alahaen dignitary with a mouth of marble finished waking from his statue-sleep beneath the animator's hand and lunged. |