Heaven's Eyes


by Tenshi


Author's note: Forgive the Berkeley Rose ending.


The sun was going down like the ending of a battle, surrendering to the desert a hard-won victory of twelve or so hours of cool, blissful violet night. Twilight turned Bledavik into a jewel, the walls holding sunlight tan like stripes of amber, the shadows pooling into liquid amethyst. And in the oncoming darkness, torches flared, bright points of ruby blossoming in the night so that the celebrations would not cease, but continue in the most pleasant part of the day, and probably long into the night. Music had washed over the palace all day like waves against Yggdrasil’s hull, a constant, sweet murmur.

The 19th King of Aveh leaned his head against a column, feeling the warmth in the smooth plaster seep into his aching shoulders. He had few memories of the people of this city. He had never known that they could sing. The festival of a few weeks ago had been a pale shadow of this effusion of happiness, a celebration of people oppressed. Bart looked down into the city, dancing in the darkness. This was his city. His people. He hadn’t chosen them as much as they had given themselves into his hands, like the willing lovers dancing off into those cool purple shadows to sing their own kind of freedom.

"Aren’t you afraid?"

The question came out of the curtained darkness at his back, and Bart was off the ledge in a flash, whip hissing on the stone flooring and ready to strike at the intruder. Bart’s freshest memories of this palace were still those of a prisoner and a fugitive, he was not so at ease yet.

"Rather jumpy, aren’t you, Bart? Or do we all have to call you ‘Your Majesty’ now?" Billy raised one pale eyebrow, and Bart relaxed, sighing.

"I’d rather you didn’t. And don’t creep up on me like that." He began to coil his whip in his hands, fingers familiarly twisting the well-loved leather.

Billy shrugged, his robes whispering as he drifted over to the balcony, staring out over the metropolis. "Will they sing all night?"

Bart waved a hand. "Probably. They like celebrations in this city. It doesn’t take much to convince them to dance the evening through."

"Dancing." Billy repeated, and Bart thought he detected a trace of disdain. "Seems like they should be resting. Don’t they know that there are more battles still to come?"

"Of course." Bart smiled easily, leaning his elbows on the railing. "That’s why they’re dancing."

"It doesn’t seem very..." Billy trailed off, looking for a word that was not offensive.

"What? Civilized? Orderly? Dignified? Is that what you’re trying to say?" Bart shook his head, jagged sunshine hair catching the distant rushlights. "No, no it’s not, Billy Black. And I wouldn’t trade it for all the chants in Nisan. This place is an oasis. The people here know that life is a desert, so they find what riches in it they can." He gestured out, over the wall. "They scavenge life the same way I pirated the Desert. It’s bred in us."

"Rejoicing in small things is not a concept foreign to me." Billy’s back had stiffened slightly.

Great, Bart thought. I’ve ruffled his feathers again. Well, Sigurd always tells me to say: "Sorry. It wasn’t an insult, or anything."

Billy lifted one shoulder, indifferently. "It’s just not the sort of culture I’m used to, that’s all." He frowned thoughtfully at the revelers far below. "You have strange customs and strange ideas and—" he absently lifted his fingers to the light, and winced slightly. "And it’s rather hot."

Bart, slow on the uptake, finally realized that it was not the crackling torches that made Billy’s pale skin look so ruddy. The Priest was sporting a nasty sunburn, probably from all the running around he’d done that day. "You should have the Doc take a look at that," He offered. "It’s gotta hurt."

"Sigurd gave me some ointment for it." Billy demurred, smoothing the front of his robes.

Something tingled in the base of Bart’s spine, cold and unpleasant. "Did he."

Billy glanced up, maddeningly innocent. "Does that bother you?"

"No."

"You sound like it does."

"Then maybe you’re hearing things wrong."

They stared at each other a long time, while the music played on between them.

"You know," Billy began, in that snooty tone the Ethos must train their priests to use, "I’m not trying to STEAL him from you or anything."

"Stealing? Sigurd? Don’t be ridiculous." Bart leaned on the balcony and stared hard at the courtyard fountain below. "Besides." He tossed his braid, and narrowed one blue eye. "You couldn’t even if you tried."

"Because he’s your brother?"

Bart’s stomach suddenly had a predilection for lunging about in his innards. "What?" His boots scraped on the tiled floor. "You knew?"

"Of course." Billy blinked. "He told me just the other—"

"He. Told. You." Bart’s whiphandle creaked in his hand, fingers winding around the tasseled end. "You?"

"I can’t believe you’re getting jealous. Surely he explained to you—"

Bart did not answer, spinning on his heel and stalking off the balcony, the tapestry curtain billowing out behind him. Billy, left alone with the music and the darkness, sighed heavily and stared up at the distant yellow moon.

"I thought so. You are afraid."


~o~





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