The vampire listens without interrupting, gaze tracking the palace ahead rather than Crow himself; lanternlight catches faintly in his eyes, turning the scarlet stare darker, older.
"Regular appointments," he repeats thoughtfully. "How considerate of him. Most rulers prefer their scholars exhausted and grateful for the privilege." That was how things were in Constantinople, at least. To even be considered for court was an honor shed only upon those expected to be eternally grateful in all ways.
The thought was stomach-turning.
At Crow's offer of guidance, the scholar tilts his head; the look he gives him is measured and assessing, but not unkind. He does have to admire the man's ambition.
"Very well," he says. "You may act as my map. But understand this: maps are useful only when they do not lie." The chiming of clarions around the assassin's wrist draws his attention for a brief moment - eyes lazy and slow beneath the half-moons of lowered lids - before he returns his full focus to his companion.
"Supplies, yes. You will receive a list. You will receive a list. It will contain nothing you cannot acquire." The means of obtaining things outside the reach of mortals always falls to his kind; nothing that could teach them of things they should not know. A faint curve touches his mouth, more shadow of a smile than the thing itself. Perhaps it is the hunger within him - roaring, clawing, fire burning up within his being - or simply the fact that the other man skirts the unknown and dances on the razor's edge. Something takes hold of him; he looks forward again, the palace drawing nearer.
"You wished to see behind my doors, yes? You are free this evening?"
The words are spoken with such casual certainty it's almost unsettling. After such strong denials, to change his heart: something dangerous beyond those doors lies. And yet the fangs beneath his lips remind him, the craving inside curls its claws. The warning was laid as salt upon the earth and still Crow looks at him as if he is a puzzle to solve. So let him solve it with blood and teeth.
no subject
"Regular appointments," he repeats thoughtfully. "How considerate of him. Most rulers prefer their scholars exhausted and grateful for the privilege." That was how things were in Constantinople, at least. To even be considered for court was an honor shed only upon those expected to be eternally grateful in all ways.
The thought was stomach-turning.
At Crow's offer of guidance, the scholar tilts his head; the look he gives him is measured and assessing, but not unkind. He does have to admire the man's ambition.
"Very well," he says. "You may act as my map. But understand this: maps are useful only when they do not lie." The chiming of clarions around the assassin's wrist draws his attention for a brief moment - eyes lazy and slow beneath the half-moons of lowered lids - before he returns his full focus to his companion.
"Supplies, yes. You will receive a list. You will receive a list. It will contain nothing you cannot acquire." The means of obtaining things outside the reach of mortals always falls to his kind; nothing that could teach them of things they should not know. A faint curve touches his mouth, more shadow of a smile than the thing itself. Perhaps it is the hunger within him - roaring, clawing, fire burning up within his being - or simply the fact that the other man skirts the unknown and dances on the razor's edge. Something takes hold of him; he looks forward again, the palace drawing nearer.
"You wished to see behind my doors, yes? You are free this evening?"
The words are spoken with such casual certainty it's almost unsettling. After such strong denials, to change his heart: something dangerous beyond those doors lies. And yet the fangs beneath his lips remind him, the craving inside curls its claws. The warning was laid as salt upon the earth and still Crow looks at him as if he is a puzzle to solve. So let him solve it with blood and teeth.