It was soft and delicate, a trilling instrument that reminded her of the old days with Ervos, when they sat on the outskirts of the city and listened to the faraway concerts that were saved mostly for the wealthy.
She knew the song it was playing.
A mournful tune … one she often heard like an echo when she thought of her mother.
She slipped inside, too curious to stop herself.
And paused when her feet found fresh-fallen snow.
Another courtyard,Ezer thought, as she entered.
She had to be in the center of the Citadel, the rounded whitewalls around her protected by the enormous fortress on all sides. Snow danced down from the sky, kissing the space.
Marble pillars spanned to her left and right, carved runes twinkling beneath the wardlight. Somehow the snow still trickled through it, another mysterious kiss of the gods’ magic. Rows of long worn wooden benches stretched all the way to a raised dais. They, too, were rune-marked, the snow hissing before it touched the ancient wood, so they remained clear and dry.
Pillowy white drifts had piled up all around them, so the entire space seemed nestled.
Tucked away for when it was needed most.
Beside the dais – upon which sat five pillars with five bowls of fire, one for each color of pillared magic – sata harpist.
She wore grey robes, a hood covering her long black tresses from the snow. Her long fingers stroked the strings of the golden instrument, every note as sweet as the snowflakes that danced gently around her.
Ezer sighed and slid onto a bench, reveling in the warmth of the runed wood.
Ervos would have loved to hear this song.
I miss you,she thought.I wish I could see you one last time. I wish you could help me with Six.
Because ifshehad a gift with the raphon … surely, Ervos would have been better.
For a time, she simply listened, allowing the song to swim through her veins. She stared at the depictions of the Five carved all around her … strangely at peace.
Which was broken by the sound of footsteps, then the groaning of a bench as someone sat down just behind her.
She glanced back, thinking it would be Arawn arriving to explain himself after his outburst. Or perhaps Izill, making sure she kept to her eating schedule for the day.
But when she turned around …
Her peace shattered.
And she looked right into the cold blue gaze of King Draybor Laroux.
She knew she should have bowed, should have averted her gaze, but she was frozen.
‘Y-your Highness,’ Ezer sputtered.
He hardly looked like the man she had seen just weeks ago. His shoulders, once broad and enormous with muscle, seemed to have shrunk even further. His face was so deeply lined with wrinkles he looked like he’d melted, like a wax figure left to sit beneath the sun. His hair was now fully white, thinning beneath his golden crown. Two marks, for his two pillars.
The magic that was clearly killing him, each time he had to invocate in battle.
No one in Lordach truly knew how bad a Sacred’s ageing was.
No one really knew what it was like when they spent themselves like this.
When they wasted away for obeying their gods.
‘My second-born seems to think you are making progress with the beast,’ the King said. ‘I expect it to be ready for a Demonstration soon enough.’
