My hands keep moving, fingers brushing dirt from the base of a plant, adjusting a leaf that doesn’t need adjusting. But I listen.
“He’s always been that way,” another voice says. Female. Light, but edged. “The question is whether it’s gotten worse.”
A soft hum follows.
“His father won’t tolerate it much longer.”
Of course he won’t.
I shift slightly, crouching lower, using the angle of the hedge to block me from view. The leaves rustle faintly against my sleeve. I catch a flash of embroidered silk sleeve, a wineglass held in a slender fingered hand.
“Or he’ll use it,” the first voice replies. “Instability can be…useful.”
A quiet laugh ripples forth. Guarded, subtle, like claws hidden beneath velvet.
“Until it outlives its usefulness. Then it is simply a burden”
The words settle heavy as lead in my gut. I don’t have to hear his name to know who they’re talking about.
Verginyon.
I keep my head down.Keep my breathing even while anxiety gnaws at me like a hungry mouse. What could I do, anyway? I have no agency. No way to help Verr, even if he would accept it from a lesser being.
“Have you seen him lately?” the second voice asks.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“And?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“He’s different.”
That makes something in my chest tighten.
“How?”
“I’m not sure yet. His gaze doesn’t flit about like a spark in search of tinder.”
Footsteps shift. Fabric brushes softly against stone. I swallow the lump in my throat and keep working.
“But he’s watching more than he used to,” the voice continues. “Not just reacting. Watching. Thinking, perhaps.”
“That won’t last,” the female voice says. “It never does.”
“No,” the first agrees softly. “It doesn’t. Some elves just have a bit too much fire in their blood. Perhaps the Thirteen took too much of an interest in him. Meant to do great things, but likely to burn out like a candle under a bellow torch.”
The footsteps begin to move away, their voices fading with them.
“…at the gathering…”
“…Kholara won’t pass up a chance to?—”
“…we’ll see…”
