#aranola

Aranola turned back to her contemplation of the view, hands gripping the railing, perhaps a touch too tightly. This was, in some ways a homecoming. In others, it was a performance, as much of what Aranola did was a performance. Let the weak sunlight fall just so on the silver circlet pinning her fall of rich, violet hair. Let the faint breeze stir her lilac skirts just so around her legs. Let her shawl drape just so to accentuate her elegant posture. Perfect.

The first indication she had that her guests had arrived on the terrace was a whiff of something unpleasant. It wasn’t overpowering, not enough to name it for what it was—corruption, in all its myriad forms. She turned, the red of her tattoos glinting in the fading sunset.

“You’ve made it!” she smiled, opening her arms expansively. Her eyes flickered over Niniyv, midnight dark burning teal with the contained fel power under her skin, and then to Aeternita, her former brilliant reds washed to a cold and stale pink in death. If either was impressed by Ara’s show, they didn’t look it.

“Aranola, I was surprised to receive your invitation.” Niniyv said, blunt as ever.

Ara lowered her arms, stepping carefully towards the table she had had the servants set for them. “The last time we all saw each other, the world was ending. And somehow, the world survived. I thought it might be a hypothesis worth testing.”

Aeternita huffed a laugh. “A toast to the world unending, then?” she asked.

Aranola gestured to the glasses on the table. “I should think so.” She pulled out a chair, but then moved around so that she could take the chair with her back to the wall. She glanced between her former friends and the waiting chairs. “Shall we?”

The other two stepped fully onto the terrace. Niniyv settled in the corner with her back to the side-edge of the terrace, and Aeternita took the chair with no view, her back to the edge. Before either could say anything, Aranola offered an apologetic smile. “It’s a long story,” she murmured, “but I much prefer to have something solid behind me if I’m going to be sitting for any length of time. Drops I cannot see make me nervous.”

Niniyv and Aeternita glanced at each other. They both smiled. “We’ve all been through quite a lot. Who are we to judge?” Niniyv said. The demon hunter reached for a glass, and poured for herself, then into Aranola’s offered glass. Aeternita politely accepted one as well.

Aranola raised hers. “To better times,” she said with a melancholy smile.

“To better times,” the other two responded, tapping their glasses together gently. Niniyv knocked back half the glass, while Ara watched over the rim of her glass and took a small sip. Aeternita left the liquid untouched, toying instead with the glass on the table.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the three as the sun dipped lower. Niniyv took a breath, but was cut off from speaking by the arrival of two servant girls, bearing trays with dinner. The light pasta and salad was dressed and sauced so well that the delicious aroma nearly drowned out the inherent unfortunate odor of Ara’s former friends.

“Thank you, that should be all we need. Feel free to take the rest of the evening off.”

“The clean-up—” the girl from earlier was bold enough to begin to ask.

Ara waved a hand. “I will see to it that it gets done.”

Murmuring thanks, the two girls left. Aranola served, filling all three plates. Niniyv, who had always favored heavier foods, nodded over a rueful smile. Aeternita again accepted politely, but did not pick up her fork.

The two women ate quietly for long moments. Eventually Aranola glanced at Aeternita. “I…” She summoned up a look of concern. “I had not realized you could not eat at all, Aeternita.”

The death knight shrugged. “Not entirely true, but it benefits me little, and serves mostly to remind me of a pleasure I no longer feel.”

“I see,” Aranola said. Niniyv was careful not to look at Ara, masking what? Aranola tilted her head, trying to discern the expression through the guise of watching the liquid swirl in her glass. Incredulity, maybe. Or contempt.

Aranola sighed. “What would you have me do, Niniyv? I mean, look at you. Both of you. How does one…?” She artistically held back a touch of a tear. “I was overjoyed when your names reached my ears, that you had survived! To find that I was wrong—”

“Not entirely wrong,” Aeternita said. “To survive and to live seem to have different meanings, these days. I have made my peace, Aranola. Eat your pasta. I hope you enjoy it, even. Somedays, I wish I could, but.”

She looked away, staring blankly into the house. “If nothing else, I am glad to fight for the life of this world.”

Niniyv grinned, slurping a noodle. She swallowed and then said, “Me, I have no regrets. I did what needed to be done. You’d have done the same, Ara, in my shoes.”

Aranola lifted her head. She thought about protesting, but realized it didn’t really matter. Niniyv had never been one to change her mind easily.

They struggled to think of something to say in silence as Aeternita’s food grew cold and the sun fully set. A billow of smog from the Broken Shore below cut off the stars. Niniyv watched the smog roll over the sky, chair tilted back. “I wonder what’s happening now,” she mused. “It only gets this bad when something’s up. I should go—”

“Wait, please,” Aranola said. The other two women looked over at her, concerned, confused. Two shadows detached themselves from the corners of the terrace, visible only to Ara’s eyes, shrouded in Ara’s magic. Niniyv half-rose from her chair, sensing something, but it was too late for that. As she reached for a weapon she had not brought to a meeting of old friends, a knife slipped under her ribs. A second knife found Aeternita’s heart. No time to cry out. No fuss, no mess.

The two succubi threw the bodies over the edge of the terrace. Aranola stood up and made her way to the railing. For just a second, she watched her former friends as they fell. Then she turned away, fingering the soulshard that hung as a pendant under her shawl.

“Thank you for your help, initiate,” a warlock said, stepping out of the house and onto the terrace. Ara raised fel-stained eyes, no longer masked by the vestiges of the priestess’s shadow magic she still held. She bowed, slightly.

“You are certain this will help?” she asked.

The warlock chuckled, low, menacing. “The head of the Illidari is dead. That you were able to secure one of the leading death knights as well is just a bonus, and much to your credit, initiate. We have begun to purge the corruption from within the defenders ranks. Soon, soon, our bargain shall be struck. Rest assured, you and yours will be safe when the reckoning comes.”