"What is this?" Sathariel asked, sitting forward, eyes bright with sparks of ice. "Why do you hesitate? Am I not what you have been seeking? Is this not the moment you have desired?"
Mastering himself, an eye on the girl dangling above them, Jinn took a single step backward but could retreat no farther. One step he demanded of himself, to be sure of his own will despite the hungry blade in his hand.
"Not this," he said at last, golden gaze absorbing every detail of the angel, dissecting his opponent into parts. "Face me on even ground; she is not a part of this."
"Isn't she?" Sathariel replied, glancing up to his captive. "She is young, innocent, and deliciously random. She is a world of souls contained in one supple body. Such as these will always be a part of this, they always have, since the beginning. They will always hang in the balance, so to speak."
"Your kind hangs them there like shields," Jinn muttered, holding his ground and mustering the patience to deal with Sathariel's overconfident preaching.
"Of course!" The angel laughed, a strange sound at odds with the blank face and flowing, mistlike hair. "It works so well! It has for eons. And your side, it is not always so righteous, no?"
"Say what you came for," Jinn said, feeling as though his resolve might slip at any moment, though he loathed the idea of proving the angel right. He tried not to think of Variel, tried not to imagine her in the angel's embrace, but his every effort only served to dredge up what he feared to recall.
"You are weary, deva," Sathariel replied, leaning back in the chair as he twisted and untwisted the rope around his wrist, causing the young woman to slowly spin back and forth. "There is a weight of time on your shoulders unlike others of your kind, pressing you down, grinding away at your spirit like a desert wind…"
"Where is Callak Saerfynn? Where is his sister?" Jinn asked, muscles tensed to leap across the room.
"He is with us," Sathariel answered. "And she is safe. Do you truly care?"
"I do," Jinn lied.
"I can give her back to you. It is within my power, a gift from me to you," the angel whispered, the simple words sliding into Jinn's mind like a cold razor, for there had truly only ever been one woman between him and Sathariel. He leaned back, sword shaking in his grip at the statement.
Absently Jinn shook his head, wide eyed at the very prospect, well aware of the twisted deals made with servants of the devil-god. They promised all one could wish for and generally held true to the letter of the contract-if not the spirit.
"In exchange for what?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could think.
"Very little. Take her and leave; live in peace. Live as she desired to, as you did once, but leave the souls of the Nine to me, they have certainly earned the place that Variel currently resides in." He placed a hand over his abdomen, stroking it softly as suffering moans whispered from within him, wailing for release. "Surely you cannot think to protect the circle of skulls for all that they have done?"
"What all have they done?" Jinn asked, calming himself and playing along, easily sensing the dark lie in Sathariel's offer, making what truth he could glean shine all the brighter.
"The details are none of your concern, but consider, with their plans and schemes ended, have you any idea how this city might change? Who can know what all they have orchestrated in three centuries?" the angel replied, rising from his seat to float just above the floor. "In any case, they will trouble this city no more, and they shall face a reckoning within the House of Thorne."
Jinn hid a smile and eased himself forward once again, sword rising. Sathariel had shown his hand, using lies to tell the truth, illusions of sincerity to display his true desires. Though Jinn saw through the angel's double-speak, he would allow the deception and use it to his advantage.
"Let me consider your offer. Just release the girl," he said evenly, just desperate enough to sound genuine as he took a careful step forward, his sword responding with renewed waves of fury that banished all traces of hope of seeing Variel again.
"Of course, take your time, deva," Sathariel replied and let the rope slide through his fingers.
Jinnaoth dashed across the room, leaping for the rope as his blade cut a wide arc through where the angel had been. A blur of wings and shadow streaked into the air, disappearing through the window with a thunderous roar of beating wings. A step too late, Jinn cursed, the rope slipping through his fingers. Unbalanced, he tried to turn as the girl fell from the rafters, but could not reverse his momentum.
Her body made no sound as it struck the floor, and the rope faded into an insubstantial mist, leaving only a dirty dress, settling lightly, the angel's illusion revealed. The stolen blade fell still in Sathariel's absence, leaving Jinn light-headed and flushed. He leaned on the cushioned chair for long moments, staring at the place where Sathariel had sat, disgusted at how close he'd been but still heartened by the small measure of control he'd earned by the confrontation.
He knew the angel sought to use him. And Jinn decided that he would allow himself to be used. But the next time he encountered the angel, he planned to have his own stolen souls to barter with.
Commander Tavian strolled down Mendever Street amid long shadows stretched between shafts of yellow-gold morning light. Broadsheet criers ran excitedly through the streets, taking their corners for the midmorn rush, fresh broadsheets slung under their shoulders after selling through the early editions. The smell of baking bread, made sharp by the cold snap in the air, wafted everywhere, mingling with the familiar scents of the city.
Tavian drew his heavy cloak tight over his shoulders, suppressing a shiver and casting a withering glance at the nigh-ineffectual sun. He much preferred the spring and summer, never quite getting the knack for the winter patrol. He sneered as Swordcaptains Aeril and Naaris rounded a corner after him. Aeril drew in a long breath and rubbed his hands together, practically ignoring the warm cloak hanging loosely over his shoulder.
"Fine day, Comma-eh, Tavian," Aeril remarked as they avoided the thicker traffic of Mendever Street.
"Cold day, Aeril. Bitter, bright, and spiteful day," Tavian replied, keeping an eye peeled for more of the ward's Watch, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rorden
Dregg in the press of bodies passing by. "I trust our other men have their orders?"
"Aye, sir-I mean, yes, they've been instructed to observe and report only," Naaris answered. "Though I have a feeling even if we were in full uniform, we might not be noticed…"
He gestured west, but Tavian was well ahead of the observant officer, noting the carriages lined up along two estate walls, some already laden with locked chests. Servants worked feverishly, hauling various items back and forth through the gates as hired guards stood by. Tavian had been told that once, well before the Spellplague, Sea Ward during winter was a veritable ghost town, nobles and the wealthy abandoning the area for homes elsewhere. The howling winter wind off the shoreline was not entirely unbearable, but those with enough gold had never had to bear what they could afford to avoid. In more recent times, the practice was mostly unheard of, especially among the newer families, not as loose with their coin as in times past.
Others with coin to spare seemed intent on staying put, their hired bodyguards reporting for duty and standing sentinel at ornate gates.
At the corners of the next intersection, two crowds had begun to gather, pausing to talk in low voices as the shouts of competing broadsheet criers echoed above the din of business as usual.