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[recreatable]

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[recreatable]

Once again, he thinks of Jochi's explanation that Jasnah expected her mother to intercept her communications. Once again, he thinks of the rumors Jochi shared. He wants to ask, but he knows he shouldn't; Jasnah has only just loosened slightly around him, and pushing her with things he isn't supposed to know will only make her clam up again.

So: "Windrunners?" he asks instead. "Airships?"

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— It's fascinating how close he comes to the truth, even by accident. Even if it's still entirely utterly wrong.

"Storms, no. The only functional airship we have is the Fourth Bridge, and extracting us from Thaylen City isn't worth pulling it off the Herdazian border."

The Fourth Bridge is very impressive. She'd like to show it to Verso, some day, when it's not engaged in skirmishes with Odium's forces. As if she has some pique of pride. Some desire to say look, look, Alethkar can be more than blood and conquest. That desire is (of course) somewhat diluted by the reality of...well, war.

"Of all the Radiant orders, Windrunners are the most numerous." And, if you ask Jasnah, most frustrating. "They fly. And have some minor control over the force and pressure of wind currents. Enough to move small groups of people. So, on occasion, they do."

The slight crinkle of her nose is enough to suggest she'd really rather not go that route.

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!!!

Sorry, Jasnah, but Verso's attention perks up at that. "So you're saying they could make us fly."

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Oh, damnation.

Hedging around her casual, easy claim of flight: "It's a lot closer to manipulating gravitational forces. But — yes, a sufficiently accomplished Windrunner could perhaps carry both of us back using the Surge of Gravitation. Or two Windrunners of the Second Ideal, maybe."

Her words are slow and careful, carrying the burden of someone who doesn't want to make the Windrunners sound too cool but who also refuses to lie about the efficacy of their Surges.

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All right. He admits it: it would be amazing to fly. Of course, he's ridden on Esquie, but it isn't the same as being weightless, soaring through the air. The closest comparison he has is in the memories imbued in his chroma: a little boy with the impossible talent to make the Canvas bend to his will, flying through the air beside his most beloved friend. He's never actually experienced it himself, but he can almost feel the wind on his face regardless.

He plays it cool, though. It's practical. Reasonable. Nothing but rational. "That sounds like a safer option than braving potential spies and assassins," he says, getting up to go through their things again. This time, it's the spanreed he's looking for.

"Let's go ahead and try to reach out to Urithiru now." Um. Not because he's impatient. "It, uh, might take a while to reach someone, so."

[elsecall]

Damnation and storms and — you know what? Merde, just for good measure.

Jasnah pulls herself back into a more prim, more composed posture. It's a small difference, just a few angles, but it involves peeling her shoulders and spine away from the divan and engaging just enough core musculature to make her mouth twitch. Not pain, just — awareness.

She doesn't argue that the shipmaster and ship she has in mind — Rysn, on the Wandersail — should also avoid spies and assassins. She doesn't argue that they'd need to find a different spanreed to use, since the one he's digging out clearly isn't monitored. She doesn't even argue that Windrunners are self-righteous or that being buoyed along by them is undignified.

Instead, teetering a little before leaning forward and placing an elbow on the end table in accommodation, she asks: "You want to return via Windrunner, don't you?"

Because she's watching him. Intently. And his flurry of activity is being noted.

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Caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The back of his neck heats with embarrassment at how obvious he must have been for her to notice it. In his defense, it's been a very long time since he's felt that sort of childlike excitement for something. Before the Fracture, certainly. Maybe even before he was ever himself; perhaps all of those memories of joy and wonder belong solely to someone else, and he's only borrowing them.

Regardless of that existential crisis— Verso clears his throat, withdrawing his hand from the bag and shrugging his shoulders noncommittally, a nonverbal whatever.

"Seems practical." And has nothing to do with his selfish desire to fly, obviously. "Isn't that what you were suggesting we do?"

[elsecall]

"It is practical," Jasnah admits, not even trying to deny it. By some metrics, there's perhaps nowhere safer than being under a Windrunner's care. Given the ideals they swear to protect others (even those they dislike, provided it's right) and given the strictness with which their spren enforce those ideals...? Certainly nowhere safer.

Still, she hems and haws. After all, it requires handing one's autonomy over almost entirely to someone else. Trusting them to keep you aloft.

"And I was laying out all of our options. We have a handful available to us. More, still, if Ivory recovers and I can use stormlight again."

Ugh. She watches him carefully, trying to game out how this conversation goes. Is she going to corner herself into a good plan that she simply finds distasteful?

"Sit. Let's talk it through."

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Hmm. Verso watches Jasnah with the same carefulness with which she regards him—although there's a curiosity to it, too. One dark eyebrow lifts underneath the curtain of his hair, silently inquiring. "You don't want to travel that way," he lands on.

What reason could someone have for not wanting to soar home? After all, she'd been so eager to get back only moments before, willing to forgo the latter part of her convalescence if it meant returning to familiar ground.

—Ah. He nods in realization. "Alicia doesn't like heights, either." Funny, considering the workshop-in-the-sky Renoir has her in. "Vertigo."

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He doesn't sit. No, instead he slips a sharp-and-accurate deduction into the conversation. Accurate enough to furrow her expression. It's more than a little annoying to have her own irrationality underlined for her.

Insistent, she reaches out and taps the divan cushion beside her. Sit, she insists again. Silently this time. If only to stop his manic quest for the spanreed. Ground some of that excited energy.

"I don't dislike heights," she counters. Although Jasnah wouldn't say she loves them, either.

"But I do prefer something under my feet. It's...eerie. Being carried by a Surge. No matter how safe."

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It feels a bit like being called to heel, but Verso tries not to take too much offense by it; he stops his search for the spanreed and settles down on the divan as requested, hands folded in his lap as he peers at her. Eerie. It sounds like she's saying that it scares her, although he can't see her easily admitting that.

"What's eerie about it?"

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Better. She settles into the corner of the couch, angled just enough to keep him in view. At this distance — and with him blessedly stationary — she can actually watch his expressions.

"Hanging in the air," she says, dry as ever. "No deck. No rail. Just some Windrunner's cocky assurance that they've got you, while they invisibly sculpt air and gravity into something approximating flight."

It isn't the height that unsettles her. Nor the danger, nor even the Surges themselves. Those, at least, she understands. It's the reliance. The absolute, unilateral trust required. Being held aloft by nothing she can see or influence, dependent entirely on someone else's focus and goodwill.

It's not fear. It's the loss of control.

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"Putting yourself in someone else's hands can be frightening," he agrees, even though he doesn't have much trepidation when it comes to this. What's the worst that could happen? He could fall to the ground and break every bone in his body? They'll be nothing but bruises almost instantly, and even those will fade in a few minutes.

"Would it help if you had something to hold onto?"

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Slow, idle, she turns the water glass on the table. Fingers braced against its rim, gently wheeling bottom's edge in a tight circle. She finds the required tension — shoulder to elbow to wrist to fingertip — comfortable. Like maybe she needs a bit of resistance to feel calm. Like maybe sitting loose-limbed and relaxed is worse.

Jasnah asks herself: is he talking as though it's already decided? She has so many excellent points yet to make about the Wandersail's crew. Or, damnation, even reconsidering some discreet means of contacting Fen and gaining access to the Oathgate.

But rather than change the subject, she entertains his question.

"Something to hold onto. Like what?" A pause that's long enough to roll her eyes. "Some Windrunner squire's bootlace?"

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Please, Jasnah, save the rolling of your eyes for after he's completed his suggestion.

"Sure," Verso says with a shrug, because it's better than nothing, isn't it? At least then she would have something physical to ground her; it seems like floating around in space without any control is what unsettles her the most, and even a bootlace could help rectify that feeling. "If you want. We could even tie your hand to theirs, if it would make you feel better."

...Somehow, though, he imagines that being essentially handcuffed to a Windrunner isn't a calming idea to her.

"Or you could hold onto me, if you want." Not really out of practicality, but mostly so she'd have something to squeeze when she got scared—but he doesn't dare say that. "Promise I'll cushion your fall if they let you go."

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Oh. The look of horror on her face when he suggests being tied, hand-to-hand, to a Windrunner. It doesn't even matter who gets sent — although if she had to pick, the least dreadful option would be Sigzil. of course.

Maybe her pinched, doubt-filled expression ought to have carried over when Verso volunteers himself. A few weeks ago, it like would have. But now she has considerably more experience holding onto him. And, turns out, it's not so bad. He's steady. Reliable. And, to be brutally honest, she doesn't hate the idea of a regenerating human crash-pad if things go awry. It's just as well that he suggests it himself, because that's a shot less gauche than if she had made the argument.

There it is. That pregnant pause that suggests she's thinking something through — considering it, following its webbed map along the different outcomes, roadblocks, variations. The Windrunners are a frustrating order, but at least they're loyal to Urithiru. Even Kaladin Stormblessed himself would be a sure bet, no matter how much bad blood between them.

"We should at least consider the other options," she counters.

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"Okay," he agrees, leaning back in his seat. Despite his obvious bias toward the Windrunners—safe, fast, and they get to fly—she has a point that they should review all of their options. It's rational to do so. Practical.

All the same, he's not going to do it for her. He gestures expectantly. "After you, then."

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Hand before her, she abandons fidgeting with her water glass in favour of counting possibilities against her gloved palm.

Tapping one finger: "There's a merchant ship called the Wandersail that my mother has contracted with before — the controlling interest is owned by a trader named Rysn. Trustworthy and smart." Jasnah doesn't mention the slightly creepy way in which Rysn could also help them contact Urithiru if spanreeds still don't work out. She's not sure that introducing the concept of secret hivemind bug people would be helpful at this point in their collaborative scheming.

Tapping two fingers: "There's Queen Fen. I imagine there are ways we can make contact that don't involve revealing all our cards," a tight smile at the metaphor, "especially if you approach without me."

Tapping three fingers: "We wait for Ivory to recover and, provided all goes well, my abilities return and I can elsegate us into Shadesmar, where we take the long, long way home." Her fingers drum briefly in place. "Objectively, that last one is even worse than the Windrunners. But it still could be on the table. Hypothetically."

Jasnah pauses. Likely asking herself, silently, if there's any candidates she's forgotten to outline. Is she...enjoying this? Maybe. It takes all sorts. And she's a sort that happens to love a little co-conspiracy, even if the objective is just get home.

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Okay; the Wandersail doesn't sound so bad, although he'll undoubtedly get sick again. A small price to pay for returning to— not home. Verso hasn't used the word 'home' in the better part of seven decades. But something close to it, someplace familiar. Someplace where he can lie down in a bed that's all his own and rest.

"The ship is an option." Not the most exciting one, but an option. "But I'm not sure we'd get anywhere with the queen without you."

Jasnah's title means something, but he doubts anyone would care if some random foreigner showed up and started asking for help getting to Urithiru. That makes it less a case of a displaced monarch and more a case of a lost vagrant.

"...And I don't think we need to entertain hypotheticals at this juncture." Whatever Shadesmar is, it doesn't sound like a place he wants to go.

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"The ship is a great option," she says in a way that is both agreeable and corrective. Her gloved hand closes in a loose fist, and then she points one finger in the air — like making a single, careful point. "But it does rely on the Wandersail actually being in port. It might be at sea already."

The eternal irony of the capable rhetorician. Even as she made an argument, she could already see its holes. The ship would work wonderfully, but its something of an edge-case. It relies on circumstance aligning.

"We confirm whether or not the ship's here. If it is, grand. If not?" A deflated, uncomfortable sigh. "We fly. Thoughts?"

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"You say 'we fly' as if you're marching to your death," he says, trying not to find humor in her obvious distaste for it (and failing). She's the one who brought up the option in the first place; if it's truly so horrible, she should have omitted it. So much to learn, Jasnah.

"All right. We can look for your ship." He gives her a once-over, eyes lingering on her abdomen. "Once you're in traveling shape."

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She almost rolls her eyes, having hubris enough to think she could travel now if necessary. By boat, at any rate. And she knows that Rysn has certain accommodations aboard the Wandersail for someone whose mobility might differ from the average sailor. Fascinating stuff, really. Using gemstones to...

Jasnah shakes her head, interrupting her own train of thought. Dragging herself back to the topic at hand.

"Inquiries won't have to wait on my recovery," she argues. "You could go down to the docks and find out. Or Jochi might know someone at the harbour."

But that does raise another problem, doesn't it? She glances around the apartment, thinking about the burden and strain this must be putting on the baker. Maybe the worst of the thread is past, sure, but keeping a foreign queen in your front room has got to be disruptive to one's social life. Not to mention keeping Verso on the floor like this. (Yes, she finally stumbles across this consideration.)

"If we're going to be here much longer, maybe we should look into alternative accommodations."

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Verso almost rolls his eyes, too. Of course Jasnah wants to send him to look for the ship he doesn't even want to sail on himself, too impatient to actually recover enough to be able to walk down to the harbor herself. He understands the need to feel independent, but— a stab wound is a stab wound. No amount of self-reliance is going to make it heal faster. Honestly, he half-wonders if taking the walk to the alley to find Ivory was pushing it.

"Alternative accommodations?" he asks. Jochi's place is... fine. Not ideal, and admittedly he'd quickly grown attached to having an actual bed with an actual mattress, but it's tolerable. Then again, he's just glad that it has a roof and a door; the bar is pretty low.

"Does Jochi's not meet the royal standards?"

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In some ways, Jochi's apartment is nicer than her rooms back in Urithiru. But Jasnah won't volunteer that information. It does occur to her, a little late, that he'd have no way to know. In the tower, she would always come to him. It's only been these last few weeks — on the ship, and here — where any delineation between his space and her space has evaporated.

"It's not that," she argues, getting just a little defensive. Alethi asceticism dies hard. "Rather, I've put him at enough risk just by being here."

And not simply because of any follow-up attempts on her life.

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Maybe he'd know what her quarters look like if only she'd invite him there. 🤡

"He doesn't seem to mind," Verso points out—although, admittedly, he hasn't been around Jochi overmuch. Whenever Jochi returns upstairs for the evening, Verso likes to take the opportunity to stretch his legs, breathe some fresh air. His only complaint (all right, second-to-only complaint; the floor really is hurting his back!) about staying here is that, in order to make sure Jasnah is tended to, he has to coop himself up for a large part of the day.

"Did you have somewhere in mind?" He's not necessarily opposed to the idea, but there's practical considerations to think about. "—We'd need to put on our false identities again."