[ Byerly hasn’t been formally un-banished from the Jeshavis office—no personal calls, no friendly lunches—but there are times when the fact that they’re three mostly-professional adults with an apocalyptic war to deal with has to take precedence over the difficulties of their love lives. This is one of those times. Something was important, or could have been important, depending on the specific diplomatic implications of a uniquely Antivan proverb in a translated letter, so there are a dozen letters in the same Antivan hand spread out on the conference table for context and comparison, and Byerly is here.
It is turning out not to be all that important, as far as Bastien can tell. He doesn’t speak Antivan, and he’s only been half listening to Byerly and Alexandrie’s multilingual discussion while he goes through a bundle of mail and reads one letter in particular three times. But the conversation seems to be ending on a relieved note, rather than a we have to deal with this immediately or else note.
So he comes to the table as well, when it seems they’re wrapped up, with the thrice-read letter in hand, and he places it down within their reach. He says—in Orlesian, Alexandrie's preference— ]
Athessa is with Vanadi.
[ The letter isn’t to him. It’s to Erik, the rifter, who is no longer here to receive it. Someone will have to write back to let them know.
Bastien takes a step back from the table and smiles, first at Alexandrie and then at Byerly. If anyone else were in the room—or if it was a topic he trusted Alexandrie with any less—the smile would be all relief. Now, with no pretending, it’s mostly relieved, but also a little tight and wounded. ]
[ - it wasn't that. Because it's been so fucking long. Because he'd written her off as dead - written the both of them, Athessa and Vanadi both, off as dead - months ago. Because he thought that the mission that he'd given his blessing on, that Vanadi had come to him to ask him for, had killed them. Because he'd thought -
Well, it's - All right. It's late, this notice, but it's come. That's something. That's something, indeed. He comes around behind Bastien to peer at the letter, to find more details...And sees that it's not even addressed to Bastien.
[ It's good Byerly had said it. It's better he had said it twice. It's best that he had said it angry; it relieves some of the pressure that is squeezing Alexandrie's chest so hard there is a part of her that wonders that her ribs don't crack.
She is pale and still. Stares at the two men and the letter, and says nothing. ]
[ Bastien glances back at Byerly, for that second what the fuck, and then at Alexandrie. Both of them have had clearer cause for guilt than he did—Alexandrie's plan, Byerly's approval. Bastien could only wonder vaguely if he ought not to have been so much gentler with her than Val Royeaux would be. He understands why they're angry. He understands that he could be, too. And maybe he is. Maybe this is what his anger feels like: still and solid, like a closed door. Much less urgent than the sense he must have done something wrong—or not done enough right—and the instinct to curl defensively, like a hedgehog with humor for spines.
So he shrugs. ]
Sometimes you need a clean break.
[ Athessa, at least. He hardly knew Vanadi. And Vanadi is the one who'd been writing to Erik, so whatever break he wanted, it wasn't so clean. ]
Maybe we were her clean break. Maybe Athessa is not even her real name.
[ The underlying joke is for Alexandrie, too. It's not about being a teenager and calling himself Bastien; it's about being in his thirties and showing up here calling himself Edouard. ]
To drag her back here. One lash for desertion, ten for being a shitty fucking friend.
[ He's not angry for himself. It's odd to discover this. He thought that his hurt surrounding Athessa was near boundless, but right now, it's absolutely irrelevant. He is angry for Bastien, and he is angry for Alexandrie, both of whom gave so much of themselves to the girl. He's about ready to spit on their behalf. ]
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no subject
It is turning out not to be all that important, as far as Bastien can tell. He doesn’t speak Antivan, and he’s only been half listening to Byerly and Alexandrie’s multilingual discussion while he goes through a bundle of mail and reads one letter in particular three times. But the conversation seems to be ending on a relieved note, rather than a we have to deal with this immediately or else note.
So he comes to the table as well, when it seems they’re wrapped up, with the thrice-read letter in hand, and he places it down within their reach. He says—in Orlesian, Alexandrie's preference— ]
Athessa is with Vanadi.
[ The letter isn’t to him. It’s to Erik, the rifter, who is no longer here to receive it. Someone will have to write back to let them know.
Bastien takes a step back from the table and smiles, first at Alexandrie and then at Byerly. If anyone else were in the room—or if it was a topic he trusted Alexandrie with any less—the smile would be all relief. Now, with no pretending, it’s mostly relieved, but also a little tight and wounded. ]
She's fine.
no subject
What the fuck?
[ - it wasn't that. Because it's been so fucking long. Because he'd written her off as dead - written the both of them, Athessa and Vanadi both, off as dead - months ago. Because he thought that the mission that he'd given his blessing on, that Vanadi had come to him to ask him for, had killed them. Because he'd thought -
Well, it's - All right. It's late, this notice, but it's come. That's something. That's something, indeed. He comes around behind Bastien to peer at the letter, to find more details...And sees that it's not even addressed to Bastien.
Now his voice is hard and sharp. ]
What the fuck.
no subject
She is pale and still. Stares at the two men and the letter, and says nothing. ]
no subject
So he shrugs. ]
Sometimes you need a clean break.
[ Athessa, at least. He hardly knew Vanadi. And Vanadi is the one who'd been writing to Erik, so whatever break he wanted, it wasn't so clean. ]
Maybe we were her clean break. Maybe Athessa is not even her real name.
[ The underlying joke is for Alexandrie, too. It's not about being a teenager and calling himself Bastien; it's about being in his thirties and showing up here calling himself Edouard. ]
no subject
[ His voice is sharp and hard. ]
To drag her back here. One lash for desertion, ten for being a shitty fucking friend.
[ He's not angry for himself. It's odd to discover this. He thought that his hurt surrounding Athessa was near boundless, but right now, it's absolutely irrelevant. He is angry for Bastien, and he is angry for Alexandrie, both of whom gave so much of themselves to the girl. He's about ready to spit on their behalf. ]