Quintin didn't say anything to his audacity, and neither between them spoke for a moment. He looked toward the window, out into whatever lay beyond it, while Yanis's eyes fell onto the young woman who still had her back to them.
"Which half is Jhela?" Yanis asked, and he nodded toward the far side of the room as Quintin turned back to him. "The half that expects the worst, or the other half that believes everything will be a matter of course for you?"
At the bookshelf, Jhela's hand paused on the spine of the volume she'd been adjusting. She had been standing at that same spot throughout the entirety of their conversation. Now, her shoulders drew tightly together slightly, and she did not turn.
Quintin's mouth shifted into something that wasn't quite a proper smile. "Jhela is the only person in this palace who thinks I could be something else entirely. Which might be worse?" He looked down at his hands. "Disappointing someone who expects the worst is easy. However, to disappoint someone who believes in you-"
"-is what actually kills you." Yanis finished it without thinking.
Quintin's gaze rose to him once again, and he nodded faintly.
The silence hung between them, and the hierarchy of their labels crumbled away like the ash of the hearth. Quintin looked at him the way he had when they first met in the corridor, as if he were listening to whatever depths there were to the dog of war before him, and hearing beyond that.
"You sound like you hate him," Quintin said, "Your commander."
For a moment, Yanis thought, and then slightly scoffed into a faint laugh.
"My hatred is worth too much for something so worthless." The words came out level, then he shrugged. "I only hope to kick his teeth in."
"Honesty," Quintin exhaled softly, and gave the briefest laugh. "is certainly refreshing."
The quiet that followed felt as if it became a lot more comfortable to live in.
"Who was it?"
Quintin had suddenly asked the question and it rendered him silent. Beneath the telling of his story, Yanis felt a stir within himself.
His mouth slightly opened, and for a moment, the words he felt he wished to say were too large to pass through.
Thereupon, the fire in the hearth guttered.
The flames shrank as though pressed down by an invisible hand, and the warm light that had filled the study contracted. Yanis and Quintin's shadows seemed to lose themselves within each other in the encroaching darkness.
The temperature did not quite change, but the air was afflicted with a tensity that made it feel so.
Jhela turned from the bookshelf to facing them properly, and her expression had a curiosity to it.
"Your Majesty?" Her voice was steady, but her hands had stilled on the book she was holding as the fire recovered.
The flame rose back to its normal height, and the shadows retreated, returning the air to normal. But a faint and wrong residue lingered on the back of the tongue, like the taste of ash.
Thereupon, the bell tolled, resounding through Alonellónë, and into Yanis's bones.
Whatever had been lodged in his throat retreated to whatever depths within him it lived.
"Draughts," Yanis said, beneath the hum of the bell. "I suppose."
Quintin held his gaze for a long moment, glancing over to Jhela. His finger moved from the lip of his cup.
"I suppose so."
Quintin picked up his tea, looked at it, and set it back down. "It has gone cold."
He moved back toward his desk and reached for his coat, shrugging it over his shoulders. "I should see what Priest Hiang requires of me. He had requested I return for more observances into the evening."
Quintin walked past Yanis's side without looking at him, with Yanis' gaze forward, to the window and his to the door.
"Understood, Your Majesty," Jhela said as she took away his undrunk tea, as well as the rest of the set and followed him as he walked slightly behind him, past Yanis.
Quintin paused at the door, turning back, and Yanis was looking at him.
Yanis saw a now unconcealed regret glimmer in the young Emperor's eyes at the interrupted conversation.
"We will continue this," Quintin said as he turned forward. "Soon."
Jhela fell into step behind Quintin without a word.
And Yanis was left alone in the study as their footsteps faded down the corridor.
The light of something hardening within him glimmered over Yanis' eyes, and his hand unconsciously rested over his sword. It was a solemn, mystic and feral light that possessed him. His gaze slightly fell, and his eyelids seemed to shield his eyes as his dark hair brushed against his lashes.
Yanis took in a long breath, and he released it, giving away the lingering tension in his shoulders. He rose his head a little, glancing out of the window, towards the dark sky, his brows ever so faintly creased.
He turned his gaze over to the book shelves.
How could he possibly waste this opportunity?
Yanis glanced behind himself briefly to ensure that Quintin and Jhela had gone; he focused, and his senses felt sharpened. His hearing began clearing, filtering unnecessary ambience, and he heard their footfalls walking them away from the room.
'They might have some way to monitor if I've tampered with anything...' The thought flitted.
Yanis glanced out of the window again, at the dark sky, and despite the fire, he felt the faint cold creep over his skin.
Risks be damned, he walked over to the shelves and began perusing. None of them would be alive to condemn him if he didn't find a solution.
He did not know what he was looking for at all. He was just looking for something that would give him information on what the assassins might want. Anything at all that would give him more direction.
His hands brushed against the spines of books that were somewhat worn, while some looked more recently maintained. Most were bound in dark colours of leather from browns to black.
And he found something nearly immediately as he began his search.
'These symbols...'