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As the bell tolled, Booker finally glanced up from the white shine of solid stone stairs underneath, it appeared an hour-and-a-half had passed. His silver eyes took on the twice-blue hue of the sky through stained glass windows; what a beautiful morning it would have been. His Lord back from business at the palace to greet him and fulfil his deepest wish. He did not want, did not need grander gestures than Sorsley's presence. He would have taken care of it all, had it all taken care of.
Twenty-eight years of service, of utter devotion.
Five years of questioning from his peers; Hyzante offered the highest grade of education; a man of his talent could have easily made a name for himself elsewhere.
He, on the other hand, came to believe one thing:
From the day he was born into a family under another, this was where he was meant to be.
He gladly did so, it was his religion in the Salt Goddess's Teachings' stead. His very own God of Salt.
Come a dozen better offers or opportunities, he stayed by his side.
He'd grown to admire his ambitions and resilience. When House Ende had been at an all-time low, Sorsley did not give up. He hardly had another choice, but Booker found a way, even as there was not a sliver of appreciation shown in return. He was counted on countless of times, as though it was a given, and it was.
He gave his body, his mind, his body and his soul. He gave his life, he would have given his death just as readily, as he felt he was doing now; as his empty eyes betrayed the beating heart in his chest.
"Where'd I go wrong, my Lord?"
A sigh escaped him like his last breath. Finally, he pushed himself up, off the stairs. His footsteps echoed across the hall, not one bit less empty despite all the decoration.
"Leaving so soon, are we?"
The sarcasm was unmistakable. Booker turned around to see Exharme; his smooth, deep voice was laced with just a bit of pity, too. He could not bring himself to respond, but his hopeless expression spoke volumes. All the young man added to top it off with was a shrug. He did not understand, truly.
"I was so ready to congratulate both of you hopeless men, but between you and me, now is truly the time for it." Exharme pushed himself off a wall he'd been leaning up against.
Booker had turned away already, but he felt so empty, the words rang in his mind.
"Consider seeking out another man, or perhaps a woman, if you're the type to partake in both. I do not judge… I heard a position opened under Minister Lyla as of recent." As hard-to-read as he was, this suggestion came from genuine thought.
What a fool he must have sounded like to Booker, who, despite their positions demanding his undying politeness, gave an audibly annoyed sigh in response. He slowly walked up to Exharme's side, tears in the corners of his eyes. "I want him."
"And no one else can replace my Lord."
There could have been a perfectly reasonable explanation, although no less heartbreaking. His body was failing him as-is. Somehow, Booker's mind stayed in limbo around Sorsley Ende. He neither abandoned him, nor was he in danger or worse, admittance of their relationship's death felt like a sentence instead.
Once Booker disappeared from view, Exharme shook his head. "House Ende is made up of a bunch of fools, it really can't be helped."
Seated in his office, one of his rings in hand, was Sorsley. He'd hardly moved an inch this past hour, not unlike Booker.
Somehow, he should have known from the start. When the relationship ceased being professional, it ceased being safe, and though he knew Booker to be loyal, he was terrified. To be known, to be attached in any way. Orders were easily barked and demands easily made, but words of genuine affection were like witchcraft to him, like the Salt Goddess would become real for just a few minutes to strike him down for it.
He angled the blue gemstone just the right way for it to reflect sunlight onto the wall.
It was too small for him, having gotten it adjusted to fit more slender fingers. He supposed it might as well be sold now, he would not step outside again today since retreating hardly a quarter hour ago. Perhaps, even Booker would have given up on the idea. It would only be a liability to be so intertwined in life, Sorsley told himself, in these times, when conflict was arising once more. Mourning a lover was still a different thing than one's beloved man. Favours from a husband pushed too hard, would have tugged on his heartstrings, and servitude from his Retainer demanded nothing.
Perhaps, Sorsley was mistaken if he expected to be let go so easily, as determined as Booker had grown to be, but only time would tell. His solitude and eventual death was all he knew he could have in life.