@mindsmade, starting fresh from our old thread here
BerĂșthiel well recalled the tents used by her fatherâs people in her youth, when journeys across the rolling umber of the desert were undertaken. Four-cornered, the fabric of a sleek and heavy weave, they had been little islands of cool dim luxury amid the heat and wind of the dunes. Servants had scattered the floor in woven rugs to soften it, and spread over the rugs had been cushions for the comfort of the tentâs inhabitants. A central pillar, jointed to fold up easily for the journeying, had held the vault of it aloft; matching pillars at each corner, with ceiling-ribs to support the weight of the fabric above. Artisans had carved those pillars and those ribs with detailed designs, of leaves and of the big eared desert foxes and of licking flames, and peering watchful eyes. From the ribs theyâd hung lamps, glowing with the warmth and scent of burning oil through the colored glass panes. Each tent had been a quiet oasis, comfort and calm.
This tent was the descendant in spirit from those, in aura if not in every specific. She stepped within its curtained space at AphanarĂ»âs invitation to do so and felt herself falling, falling through time, falling through memory. The curtain fell behind her, closing her into the space. BerĂșthiel stood stock still, breathing through the flood of memory as it enfolded her as the tentâs rich dimness enfolded her; standing in front of her was the princeling, the handsome and tall and strong young man whose desire for her was as palpable and intoxicating as incense burning in a bowl.
She felt abruptly light-headed in a strange way, a flutter of some weakness in her chest and throat. BerĂșthiel despised weakness in herself, long had; it was a vulnerability which she could not afford to take root in her. She had not fought her way to this life, this extended existence, only to be weak and to be fragile!Â
Taking two quick steps forward, BerĂșthiel sank to her knees among the cushions in a graceful way, one which aimed to disguise the strange giddy feeling which ran through her like water. She could only hope that the dimness of the tent would equally disguise any strangeness in her expression, any pallor ashing her cheek.
âMay I ask that there be tea served, my prince?â she murmured, looking up at him through her dark lashes. It was something of an impudence, to request refreshments rather than waiting to be served; but she asked with the proper respect in place in her tone. To find where they together might stand in this place, where he was Prince and she merely his sapthĂȘth, was an act of balance and careful testing.
Any one of his guards would see her head from her neck if he ordered it. If they believed her a threat to him, perhaps they would not even wait for the order.