They have given Saroth a room in the palace of Rān. The room wasn't the largest guest chamber, nor it was luxurious. It was quiet- a room far enough from the main corridors that the foot traffic was minimal but not isolated enough to seem suspicious.
Tish had a hunch Saroth had specifically asked for this room framing some professional need he must have come up with easily.
As soon as Tish entered the room she was hit by a sharp chemical smell- not quite antiseptic, not quite alcoholic - but somewhere in that family- preservative.
It burned at the back of Tish's nose- a smell which was not quite of death but of like death was being refused which was somewhat worse.
Before Tish could get habituated with the smell the sight of the room froze her at the threshold momentarily.
There were snakes.
The first one was long- much longer than what one expects a snake to be when it's coiled and still - because coiled, the body is compressed into something that looked manageable until you trace the body and you realise it just keeps going, in loops after loops- the total length of that thing would probably reach your shoulder or even higher.
With a hint of morbid fascination, Tish observed it's pale brown skin with darker blotches running down its back in a pattern that looked almost deliberate, almost printed. Its head rested on the topmost coil, pointing slightly towards the glass and it's eyes were-
Open.
They were fixed in a lidless, patiently awake stare that looked permanent.
Tish tore her gaze away from the snake only to spot another one, also long, but shockingly thin for its length - no wider than the width of her own index finger. It had pale greenish back with darker stripes - pressed against side of another glass box, looking almost decorative.
"Saintess Williams, we meet again."
Tish's head snaps to the other side of the room where there was a work table- long - covered in vials, bottles arranged not by their size or colour but by a specific system that only he understood. For a brief second, Tish's eyes flicker to the levels on the vials and bottles. They were all written possibly in his own handwriting.
It seemed. The Royale Healer of Partha was quite at home here in Benevia as well.
"Fate keeps bringing us together even though we are supposed to be on the opposite side of the war," said Saroth.
"Do not let fate have credit for what you are doing yourself," answered Tish, "The decision you made of staying here instead of returning to Partha is why, at all, we are having this meeting." A pause. "That day. You didn't arrive in Benevia the day you showed yourself at the Low Bank , have you?" She asked carefully, "You have arrived much much earlier." It wasn't a question. It was a fact spoken, "When? Before Rudra Azhdar attacked us?"
Saroth didn't answer. But he didn't look displeased with the question. "Yes," he admitted, "I arrived a while ago. I arrived the day the Prince woke up from a nightmare screaming your name. I had a hunch he would be coming to find you so I came before he did to set the board so that he can play his part as a pawn."
He took a step forward. Tish stepped back. Not because she was scared or suspicious. But it was something deeply instinctual.
It wasn't as much as herself which was feeling repulsed but the very essence of goddess which seemed to shy away from the presence of this man.
Saroth didn't push. Didn't get offended. He just pulled back like someone not trying to spook a wild animal. His eyes were unbearably warm.
"What is your purpose?" Tish asked, voice tight, "I thought you were loyal to Azhdar Royale Family."
"I am not loyal not to Azhdar Family itself but the individual- Ravaan Azhdar. But my loyalty to him is not same as a man's loyalty to his King," he scratched his left ear, thinking, "It is more like devotion. The kind you have for your goddess Rāva. Just like how you owe everything you are to your pantheon, I owe everything to the Dragon King."
"And yet you are Poisoning his son," Tish said flatly.
"Saintess, His Majesty Ravaan Azhdar had lived longer than your entire Nation," he sighed, "What worth to him is a son who is barely two decades old?"
It was such an odd thing to say Tish didn't know how to react.
"He is not the first Rudra and he will not be the last," Continued Saroth making Tish more and more confused, "But he is the one who is around when I am around so I plan on making full use of his existence. "
"What I am hearing is you are a man who serves yourself," Percival said from behind, "How can we trust you?"
"How about a little gift?" Offers Saroth. He walks to one corner of the room. There, on a hook, hung a coat, "This is not Sword of Mamon," informed Saroth, "But this is something which will keep that particular dragon from melting your face," he chuckled good naturedly and offered it to Tish.
Tish didn't take it ofcourse. She didn't even intend to take anything from this strange man. But the coat was so different, built from material Tish had never seen before.
In simple words, it was black. Not dark. But black - in the way certain rare things are black. Saroth moved from one feet to another, his hand still patiently offering the coat- the light shifted- and Tish caught the ember tint. The ember moved across the coat just beneath the black obsidian colour - like heat beneath ash- like last dying glow of a coal which you thought were dead until you had disturbed it.
Tish extended her arm. Behind her, Percival took a sharp breath, alarmed. His one hand came to rest on Tish's elbow.
The interior of the coat was lined with something soft and red. As Tish took the coat, she realised what she had thought was some unknown fabric was no fabric at all. Both the obsidian exterior and soft red interor- were scales. Scales.
Confused, Tish looked up at Saroth.
Saroth nodded as if he could read the thoughts which had not even formed in Tish's head.
"Yes," Saroth nodded, "The coat. It's made from Rudra's shed."
"I acquired it when I helped with his first transformation at the age of six ."