Laž’ar grabs the fan next to him and hides his laugh behind it.
“My lord thinks so, too?”
The General picks up his cup. “What are you even supposed to be blessed with?”
He sounds exasperated, more like a long-time friend lamenting about poor fortune than a stranger commenting on a peculiarity. To add to this image, he empties his cup.
“Butterflies live close to the earth but fly. Various lords I have met have used this as an explanation to say that I am to be safe in the afterlife, or that I’m protected in life.”
“Afterlife perhaps, but butterflies aren’t long lived and are quite fragile.” He pours himself more wine. “How about being blessed with a great mind and intellect?”
“My lord has a unique view.”
“I’m just from Atnaš’ar. We Atnaš follow Nükiž the same way people here follow Denaštür.”
“My lord is familiar with beliefs in Žančur?”
“Atnaš’ar is an important place for trade between south, west and the Capital. There are many Žančuran merchants, and much of the goods of the Cavalry is procured there.”
“I was unaware of this. Other than the rest of Khatian, Zulačar does little trade here, but foreign trade is abundant.” Laž’ar thinks of something. “I assume trade between Žančur and Atnaš is for foreign goods?”
“Indeed. It is also why the Ažamür Cavalry sent me.”
Laž’ar takes this in. “But why send you? I hear that my lord is the general of the second division. I know very little about the military’s affairs, but I believe myself to understand a few things, nonetheless. Taking the matter of your šüssad being the famous General Kharanlar aside, divisions are numbered after rank, much like officers. A division general is of third rank, and a general of second. Ažamür Cavalry is well known not for just its general, but also its speed — it would not have just two divisions.”
Laž’ar startles at the softness appearing in General Züčan’s eyes.
“It is because I am leading the second division. General Kharanlar can’t send the first division, of course, which he personally leads, about this matter, but it is also not a matter we can place on the divisions that handle matters such as transportation.”
“Oh, I see. Then it is not for trade, but may it be for negotiations? Not with Žančuran merchants or the governor, but with representatives of the lands beyond the mountains and seas?”
General Züčan smiles slightly. “As I thought. You are educated. How have a beauty like you, educated enough to understand matters like these, come to be here?”
Laž’ar blinks, then hides behind the fan. “My lord is making fun of me. I am uneducated.”
“This I will not believe. Who tutored you?”
“Before I answer, may I ask a question to which I shall receive an answer first?”
“Very well.”
“How did you know?”
“Your dancing.”
Laž’ar is speechless, and it must show. The General laughs, seemingly very happy with his confusion.
“I don’t claim to be very knowledgeable in the arts, as I am more learned in military matters,” the general pours Laž’ar some wine, “but I believe myself to have picked up a little as an apprentice. The way you dance is more refined than what would be expected at this low-class establishment. It is no wonder you are well-known here in Žančur. This suggests you have been taught by someone who has learnt dancing not to dance at a place like this, but somewhere more refined — such as the Rose Pavilion.”
How could he get that much information out from a small performance? Laž’ar can only stare.
“Now, keeping in mind the Rose Pavilion is more refined, it means you have likely received some proper training and tutelage. This does not have to be by a teacher per se, but you would have someone who acts like a mentor, tutor, or šüssad.
“With this in mind, I’ve observed how you act and move. Though you can be both coy and bashful, the way you hold yourself is not of someone trying to seduce, but rather in a more noble fashion, with subtle propriety at each carefully chosen action. A subtle distance while still alluring. It would seem you are more than a beautiful dancer.
In addition, your dance has western elements. You are supposed to be from here, so why would you have western elements in your dancing when no one else does? It is, naturally, because that is what you have been exposed to. While dance is a form of entertainment to be watched within the borders of Zuladiar, if we move beyond the border, this is not necessarily the case. There it is more common that nobles dance as well.”
He pauses.
“Thus you have either had a tutor of Western background, or you yourself are of western heritage.”
He smiles. “Did I get it right?”
Dizzy from all this information, Laž’ar just answers a soft “Yes.”
It is near the first earth hour when Çetžak places his cup on the table. In the past, he would have found cause to leave a long time ago, but with this entertainer, he has had a pleasant time.
The butterfly notices and makes to stand up.
After Çetžak had got his answer, the quite proper and polite butterfly chose to put distance between them, no longer pretending to seduce, though they remained very alluring to Çetžak.
They approach him, taking a cloak hanging over the coach along the way and put it over Çetžak’s shoulders. Çetžak knows this doesn’t mean anything, but his eyes still move to look at the entertainer, whose hands are resting on his shoulders. They startle when they notice him turning to see them once more, but Çetžak is more than satisfied to only look at the beauty he had held a conversation with almost the entire night.
They talked about this butterfly’s past briefly, and Çetžak found out it was the mother of theirs who had taught them how to dance, read, and write. Their mother had indeed western heritage, but the little butterfly Çetžak spoke to had allegedly never been, nor met their family.
This little butterfly pulls back their hands, lowering their gaze, but not in any bashful sense. It looks more that they are ashamed.
Çetžak’s heart constricts painfully, and he stands up to turn to the entertainer. He doesn’t hold back the urge in time, and his fingers brush against their ear as he puts a stray strand behind it.
“There is no reason for a beauty like you to be here.”
The entertainer looks up at him.
“If there wasn’t…”
“How much is a night with you alone?”
This little butterfly averts their gaze while chewing their tinted lip. They glance at him, and he’s certain it’s more a performance than true. After all, Çetžak himself had made no advances, nor asked for them. He could call it out right now, but he doesn’t want to.
“M’lord can’t afford me, I’m sure. A general he may be, but doesn’t seem to be all that rich.”
Çetžak chuckles and gently takes their chin, making them look at him properly. There’s a slightly mischievous look to their gaze. One full of teasing, one that Çetžak had yet to see until now. He marvels at it.
“I’ll owe them my house for a beauty such as you,” he responds.
Even through the haze of the veil, the corners of the little butterfly’s pretty mouth quirk up and their eyes narrow into crescents.
“If m’lord can afford to speak with me more than just this once, mayhap I shall speak with the madame.”
Çetžak hums, letting his thumb rub below their lip. He can only admit to himself that he would take pleasure in kissing this butterfly. He presses his lips together, taking control of his urges, as the divine looks back at him, their amusement turned to worry.
“How much would it be to see your face?” Çetžak mutters as he lets go.
The butterfly lower their gaze, perhaps truly bashful this time.
“That is something no one has seen yet, m’lord.”
Çetžak nearly startles at this revelation, and takes in the young divine once more. Much of the person’s skin is on display, shown to seduce, while it’s clear that years of dancing had allowed the divine smooth flexibility. He can’t help the shuddering breath when he looks back at the divine’s golden eyes.
“Then,” he exhales softly, his voice barely holding his words, “then allow me this? Surely it cannot be comfortable to hide behind a veil at all times.”