As the meaning of this sank into her bones, Candor thought she was going to vomit. She whirled in the little space, taking in the study with new eyes.
“No,” she hissed. “It cannot be.”
They were. Frantically, Candor tore open the door to a small, pixie-sized interlude. It was empty, its inside shadowed eerily. Letti opened another nearer to the door, also finding it empty. Candor moved to a larger box, its bottom set on the floor.
A soft yelp escaped Candor as a round, bearded face peered out at her. It spoke a few words, and Candor felt the air around her shimmer, a heat pass over her, and she saw the sparkle of every air particle between them for a brief moment. Nonplussed, Candor reached into the box to help the Fae out.
“You don’t speak our language.” The little bearded man looked upon Candor with utter surprise. “Who are you?”
“I’m Candor.” Candor managed. “Who are you?”
“I am Riven.” Riven answered. “Of Cast Carine, gnomefolk.”
“How did you get here?” Candor asked. She sank back on her haunches, not trusting her legs.
“Captured in the teeth, eastern edge.” Riven shook his head, his long white beard sparkling slightly, as if proper silver ran through it. “What year is it?”
“I don’t know.” Candor answered honestly. “I’m sorry.”
“Were you captured too?” Riven’s gaze raked Candor’s visage empathetically.
“No, it’s… a long story.” Candor regained some of her strength. “We need to get you out of here.”
Riven looked around, finally taking in some of his surroundings. “Cast and creed, what is this?” He paled.
“It is a slave room.” Letti said grimly, stepping from the shadows. She had watched Candor’s interaction with Riven, her heart falling through her feet. “What happened to your arm?”
“Bastards cut it off before they stuck me in this box.” Riven held up a limb that ended at his elbow. Candor had been so engrossed with his familiar face that she had not made it as far as his limbs. “They at least stitched me and let me heal. Called it their tax.”
“Did they?” Letti asked.
Candor turned to look at her friend and was alarmed to find her pale as a ghost, jaw clenched tight enough to break her teeth.
“Riven, if we find anyone else, can you help us escape?” Candor turned back to the gnome. His bright green eyes shone from his tanned face, bright white hair bushy under a knitted cap.
“Yes.” Riven puffed his chest out, and he stood a hair taller, coming up to Candor’s mid-thigh.
“Help us check the rest of the interludes.” Candor instructed, and the three got to work, prying open doors and extracting stricken Fae.
More than a few times, Riven had to come to the aid of Letti, who was struck immobile with a word or curse as she opened a box. He assured the occupants she was no enemy.
As a small group of white and black haired Fae began to congregate in the middle of the room, many missing limbs or suffering from open wounds, Candor held her mouth clamped shut so as not to throw up. These beings did not deserve to see her so weak; they need someone strong right now, Candor thought grimly. She opened another door, this interlude a length off the floor, and felt her throat tighten.
The pixie inside the box gasped with a horrible gurgle. Candor reached in and lifted her into the room.
“Stop!” Riven cried, rushing to Candor. “Put her back.” He instrcucted.
Candor did as she was told, blood staining her hands. The pixie’s chest had been torn open; Candor marveled that she had any life left in her.
“Anyone whole, come here.” Riven, who had taken to his position of leadership well, beckoned to the haphazard Fae. Many eyes were hard, unfeeling, but several stepped to Riven. He explained, and as he did, Candor watched the reality of what she had just witnessed play in front of her vision again, but the pain of the pixie echoed in her chest, the cold existence of the interlude hammered inside her skin, and she fell to her knees. Riven paused at Candor’s movement but did not stop to care for her. Candor watched the small man gesture at a nymph, whose white hair had been shorn, and an eye covered with a patch. Her left eye, as orange as any sunset Candor had ever seen, watered slightly, as if she were about to cry, but her visage was grim.
“Now.” Candor did not have to speak Fae to understand Riven’s command. The Nymph swung open the door, snatched the pixie gently, and laid her in the center of the small circle of the waiting Fae. Together, they began to chant. Without warning, Candor found that she knew the words; she opened her mouth and added her voice to the mix. No one seemed to notice, and indeed, Candor would not have been able to stop had she tried. She felt her strength leave her, but it was not as rushed as when she had attempted majik before, for this was majik at its purest, Candor was certain.
With a sigh that echoed of the silence of the farthest star-filled sky, the Fae broke apart, and the pixie on the ground trembled. Her eyes blinked open, a stunning forest green, and she swept her jet-black hair from her face.
Riven turned to Candor. “Let us help the others out. You need to find a way to escape.”
Candor nodded and retreated to Letti’s side. Letti stood by the door, arm askance, watching the collection of broken beings in front of her.
“How could he do this?” Letti asked. “How can he live with himself?”
“I don’t know.” Candor muttered. “We need to find a way out of here.”
Letti nodded, ripping her gaze from another healing circle that had gathered at the far end of the small room. “I’m thinking rooftops or sewers.”
“What’s a sewer?” Candor asked.
“They are giant pipes that take the waste of the city outside the walls.”
“How do you know this?” Candor asked, baffled. Never had she come across the mention of such a thing in Lola’s books.
“I was just reading about Durevin.” A tinge of color returned to Letti’s face as she grew exasperated.
“Nobody goes down there. I’d wager this city has them too.”
“No big shock.” Candor muttered. Still, it was the best plan they had for an unseen exit. “Do you think we could find a map here?”
“I would imagine one exists, and if it does, it is likely coded in this library.” Letti sounded doubtful. One of the gnomes, both of whose hands had been sliced off at the wrists, looked up at her. “We can find it.”
“Yes.” Candor agreed. They had no other choice. They could not condemn these creatures to mutilation and death. Better to die running than in chains. Candor set her jaw and moved to explain to Riven where she and Letti were going. He nodded and pulled her ear close to his mouth. “We will not be able to fight.” He met her eyes as she drew back. Candor understood; he did not want to impress upon his new comrades that he had no faith in their abilities, but Candor needed to understand the capacity of her herd.
Candor nodded before dashing out of the study. Feverishly, Candor and Letti identified the symbol for Ome Chaer, sprinted to the relevant shelves and began tearing through titles.
“It would be a scroll, I think.” Letti finally said, wiping sweat from her brow. Though the room was quite cool, the task at hand had her heart beating feverishly.
The two began unloading the scrolls from their cubbies. This process took slightly longer, as the girls could not identify a scroll’s subject without opening it entirely. After several scrolls, Letti finally uttered a soft cry.
“Here!” A thick stretch of what looked to be the same paper Zorca had been reading that morning. Almost translucent, a large map stretched into a loose circle on its surface.
“Are you sure this is the sewer? This cold be a map of the streets.” Candor ran a hand through her hair.
Letti simply pointed to the title of the large graphic. Waste management proposed map for Ome Chaer, 2A632.
“What’s the year?” Candor asked.
Letti shrugged. “Best we’ve got.”
Candor didn’t disagree.
Out of the hushed calm of the library, the slow creaking of the library’s door sounded. Panicked, the girls shared a glance, and Candor mouthed go. Letti tore over to the door as Candor replaced the various reading material. Just as she gathered herself and turned to the door, it closed, and Letti, eyes wide, hurried back to Candor.
“Zorca wishes to have us for dinner.” Letti’s words slurred slightly in her haste.
“Phrased less cannibalistically, Zorca wants to have dinner with us?” Candor asked.
“Yes. Tonight. The servant said she would lay out gowns for us.” Letti’s face paled.
“Stones below.” Candor stiffened. “Here’s what we’ll do.” Quickly she laid out the plan to an aghast Letti.
“That could fall apart in so many different ways.” Letti finally observed.
“Yes.” Candor agreed. “Let’s inform the Fae.”
Candor and Letti returned to the interludes to find Riven and the one-eye nymph talking into a gnome-sized interlude halfway up the wall.
“What’s going on?” Candor asked, approaching the two.
Riven turned and explained. “She doesn’t want to go.”
Candor peered into the box. A small figure, smaller than Riven, but defnintely gnome-kind, sat curled into the corner of her interlude. Her eyes were almost completely covered by her dark black hair, and it stuck out in tufts below her maroon cap. Candor made a note to ask Riven about the caps they wore.
“She’s been in and out of the interlude several times.” Said Riven grimly. “She’s missing all four limbs. She doesn’t think it’s worth leaving.”
“She might be right.” The nymph, whose words were compellingly song-like, turned to Riven and glanced at Candor. “We may be running right into more pain.”
“Be that as it may, it’s an opportunity for freedom.” Riven’s voice was firm. “I will not leave anyone behind.”
“This is certain death.” Candor said softly. “We have a chance to escape.”
The nymph gazed at Candor, one eye bright and sharp. “You are not entirely Fae, are you?” She asked. “You do not know our pain, little one.”
Candor shook her head. “You’re right. But living with the guilt of many lives is more than I can bear. Don’t offer me that horror.”
Surprised, but silent, the nymph raised an eyebrow but did not speak.
“That’s Cairlaen.” Riven introduced the nymph to Candor.
“Well met.” Candor began to offer her the customary palm but refrained herself. Cairlaen looked on, something akin to pity on her face.
“I’ll carry her box.” A dwarf piped in. Taller than Riven, but shorter than Cairlaen, the dwarf bore a close-cropped white beard and scarlet eyes. His limbs bulged with veined muscles, and his hands bore the telltale signs of carpentry and metal working. Candor was immediately reminded of Hroth. Candor noticed the dwarf did not have any missing appendages, nor did he appear wounded. She wondered if he was freshly captured.
“Alright.” Riven closed the gnome back into her interlude and yanked it off the wall. It came unwillingly, and plaster rained down upon the foursome. Turning to Candor he asked for the plan.
“We will be exiting through the sewers.” Candor explained as the group gathered round her. She noted the similarities in features despite the different species. Fine faces, darkened with trauma stared at her. Brightly colored eyes assessed her own, and she felt a shudder run through her body. She was their only hope, and this kind of power frightened her. I cannot offer them what they deserve. She felt her throat tightening and fought to control it.
“We will exit through the sewers,” she began again. “This will be exceedingly unpleasant. This is how waste is taken out of the city—”
“We know what sewers are, girl, don’t think us fools because we were caught.” A deep throated growl sounded from an older dwarf woman in the back.
“I only explain for I myself just discovered what they were a few minutes ago.” Candor said smoothly. “I mean no offense.” A rumble meandered through the crowd, and the faces staring at her looked even less certain of her leadership.
“I have a map. Once we are on the south side, I will have to return to the city to ensure the façade of normalcy with our host.”
“Will you kill him?” Cairlaen asked quickly. Her orange eye bore into Candor.
Candor hesitated. “I will hold him in a blood feud until I have no need of him any longer.”
Cairlaen, though not entirely convinced, did not press the matter. Candor was relieved. She had killed before, and rather indiscrimately too. She did not know why that inquiry had rattled her so.
“Will you be able to get to the Kotemor?” Candor addressed this question to Riven.
He nodded. “We’ll not get captured again.”
Candor stiffened her spine. “Letti will cover our escape tonight at dinner. She will ensure that you have a full day and night to move.”
A pixie, fluttering haphazardly on a torn wing, flew close to Candor’s face. “You don’t speak Fae.” She whispered.
Candor thought to shake her head, then thought better of it.
“What are you?” The pixie asked.
“I’ll tell you my story as we move.” Candor promised. “But we must go.”
“Wait.” Cairlaen turned to the room, and muttered a word to the other Fae, who streamed out of the study. “You too.” She flashed her gaze to Candor.
At the doorway, Candor turned in time to see a sharp phrase emanate from Cairlaen, the interludes fracturing, shooting across the room like so many tiny explosions. They curved around Cairlaen as she too exited the small space. Candor marveled at the power these beings wielded; she wondered to herself how they could have ever been captured. As the door swung shut, Cairlaen sagged slightly, and Candor caught her.
“That’s how.” Cairlaen whispered to Candor, before wrenching herself upright.
“Using Letti as a scout, Candor led the refugees out of the library, down the main foyer, snatching a lantern, and into the street.
“Here.” Letti marched a few lengths down the street, stopping at a drain that built into the bottom of Zorca’s neighboring home. The bars swung up at Letti’s insistence, and Candor descended, helping some of the limbless Fae with her.
“Twins be with you Candor.” Letti’s voice echoed from the top of the dim chamber, then a shadow flickered above, and she was gone.
The lamp that Letti had snatched offered little light in the enclosing doom. As Candor dropped to the ground, splashing into filth, a rancid smell rose from the earth, and she gagged.
“Give me that.” Riven held out his hand for the lantern. He whispered a few words, and it glowed bright enough to light the entire tunnel a few lengths ahead and behind them.
Momentarily enthralled, Candor forgot the stench. “How did you do that?”
Riven gazed at Candor before handing her the lantern. “You are clearly Fae, or of Fae blood, yet you cannot pull the sacred language naturally.”
Unsure how to respond, Candor consulted her map. “Cairlaen, take a second look, but I think we’re here, and we need to move this way.” Candor traced her finger along a dark line outlined on the thin paper.
Upon sniffing the air, twirling a few times, and muttering a few words, Cairlaen eyed Candor oddly and nodded.
Twins above. Candor thought to herself. “This way.”
She led the troupe of refugees forward, twisting and turning around various points in the sewers, all the while trying not to think about the stench, the blood feud she had promised, and the in-between space she now occupied.
“How is it,” Riven began, echoing her thoughts, “That an elf such as yourself can’t speak the language, is on this side of the continent, and is in the halls of our tormentor?”
Candor sighed. “I don’t know much of my own story.” She confessed. “I only learned I am Fae, likely half Fae, a night ago. I grew up north of the Kotemor, daughter to two mothers, in what now appears to have been a secret village.” Candor shrugged, throwing shadows across the slimy curves of the tunnels. “They were killed, my entire village, by whom or what we don’t know. We’ve been travelling south since, trying to find the Citadel. I think—” Candor stopped at a collective hiss.
“What?”
“The Citadel is a stealer of secrets.” A fairy, larger than the pixies Candor had freed, landed on Candor’s shoulder. “That is a truth every Fae child knows; the humans sought to outgrow us. To best us, and we offered them the path.” The fairy shook his head. “It was intended as an institution of peace. And it destroyed us. It will yet destroy the humans, ysela.” The fairy ended with what sounded like a curse.
“There are still people there then?” Candor asked, surprised.
“Yes.” The fairy hopped up, “Ghosts are hard to kill.”
“Why are you venturing there?” Riven asked. “You have all the majik of the Fae in your blood. You need not learn at the feet of humans.”
“I know nothing.” Candor said softly. “That is your continued point is it not? I cannot speak the language that is my birthright. I do not know the history of my people, on either side. I need instruction. And I need to follow what my mother told me.”
“Your mothers, did they age?” Cairlaen asked swiftly.
“No.” Candor replied. “They did not. They raised me, but they did not birth me. I do not know how old they are.” Candor paused. “Or how old they were.” She added sadly.
Riven and Cairlaen’s visages softened slightly.
“Tell me your stories.” Candor turned to look at her companions. “How did you come to be in the interludes?”
Riven shrugged. “Like I said when you freed me. I was in the foothills of the Kotemor, and I was set upon by Fae catchers.” Riven lifted his stump. “It can’t have been that long ago, or I would be missing more appendages. I’ve not breathed the open air since I was taken.”
Candor shuddered.
“I’ve been in and out of interludes.” Cairlaen tossed her long hair back. “I work with a group of Fae here in the west that assassinates Fae catchers. On our last attempt, we were caught in the open by a second group. I stayed and fought to make sure everyone else could escape. That was a couple centuries after the mad king. I’ve been in and out since.” Cairlaen looked pained. “I lost my eye to this racket, but I also sport fewer organs than a normal Fae.” She grimaced. “I’ve been cut open, forced to heal myself, and cut open again.”
Riven made a noise in the back of his throat.
“That was here?” Candor gasped.
“Aye.” Cairlaen glanced at Candor.
“I was born in captivity.” A pixie chimed in, landing on Candor’s left shoulder. Though smaller than the pixies Candor had met in the Kotemor, she stood about the size of Candor’s hand. Her wispy wings sparkled in the yellow light.
“My mother and father were forced to mate, though both had been married to other loves.” The pixie wrung her hands. “My dad killed himself after.”
A few of the Fae made noises of incredulity. The pixie nodded whistfully. “They make those noises haelfin, because for a Fae to kill himself is very hard, and very costly. It nearly consumes everything around him, and it takes a great power to do so.”
Candor’s eyes were wide.
“My mother stayed with me as long as she could, but Fae are born without need of sustenance like the humans. So, there was little reason to keep us together. I sometimes wonder why I’ve been kept alive so long.”
“Maturity in Fae offers more mature majik,” Cairlaen explained. “It’s less a surprise they haven’t killed you. It’s more a surprise they left you in an interlude not to ripen.”
Candor thought of something. “What would happen if you put a human in an interlude?”
Cairlaen frowned. “I don’t think anyone has ever tried.”
Riven stroked his beard with his remaining hand. “I’m not sure it would offer the same benefits it does our kind.” Riven considered Candor. “Fae exist out of time, in a way that humans do not. We are already well within our existence not to age. I think humans would just age within the box.”
Candor remained quiet. I wonder what it would do to me.
~.~
Letti paced the room, waiting for Thorn to return. She had changed into the silver gown that one of Zorca’s servants had laid out on the bed, its proportions slightly different than the violet gown that laid next to it. Letti wondered if Zorca had commissioned both gowns that day. She found it rather displeasing, a sign of ostentatious wealth, especially after the images of the broken Fae flitted through her vision. The house that had so enchanted her at their first encounter now felt haunted, its beauty a violation, a mask for some deep rot. Letti shivered.
The door began to open, and Letti pounced. She held her finger to her lips as Thorn, startled, returned his dagger to its sheath. Rubbing the side of her neck and scowling at the large man, Letti pointed to the mound under the blankets on the bed and whispered, “Candor doesn’t feel well. We shouldn’t wake her for dinner.”
Thorn raised an eyebrown, skeptical, but did not press Letti. She felt her spine relax ever so slightly. Thorn changed quickly into the dark suit that had been selected for him, foregoing a waistcoat and a tie. Letti pointed to a pair of neatly shined boots next to his divan, and with a huff, Thorn donned them, wincing.
“We should go.” Letti shooed the large man out of the room.
“Bring your dagger.” Thorn instructed.
Not wishing to appear indecorous, Letti did not lift her skirts and show Thorn she had already taken that precaution, so she simply nodded. Together, the two exited, Letti making a show to shut the door quietly behind them. She had arranged the pillows just so and hoped Thorn bought the charade. She couldn’t make the pillows breathe, obviously, so her plan had been to exit Thorn as quickly as possible. Now that they were out fo the room, however, Letti was unsure how to entertain him.
“The library was enlightening today.” Letti’s voice was high, and she cleared her throat. “I learned a lot about Durevin.”
“An entire day in the Aslanti library, and you research Durevin?” Thorn’s rumble turned slightly incredulous. “What did Candor learn?”
“A fair bit.” Letti murmered. “And what did you learn?”
“Zorca was not lying simply to scare Candor.” Thorn answered grimly. “There is a bounty out for us. There’s an alliance, rather established now that we offered a common enemy, albeit small, between at least one house in Durevin and the port master here.”
“That’s poor news.” Letti, distracted, did not react with much emotion.
“It just means we need to leave, and quickly, preferably under the cover of darkness.” Thorn growled. “I don’t know what Zorca’s intentions are with this dinner, but drink nothing and eat little.”
“I thought he was your friend.” Letti, mood darkening, had long ago decided she had no forgiveness for this man in her heart.
Thorn rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you I’d rather stay in the Windless than venture into these halls.” Thorn shushed Letti. “No more talking. Everything we say is noted.”
Utterly weary of this lifestyle, Letti was actually looking forward to returning to the road when she and Thorn knocked on the door to the dining room. A servant, wearing a mask over his eyes, opened the door and bade them enter.
Zorca sat at the head of the table, unphased by the pomp and circumstance he had affected. He too wore a mask. A small velvet mask sat on each plate.
“No Candor tonight?” Zorca’s mouth worked around her name.
“She’s not feeling well.” Letti took her seat.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Zorca gestured at Letti’s mask. “Please.”
Letti plucked the piece of fabric and used the long strings to tie it around the back of her curls. Thorn brushed the mask from his plate, earning a sigh from Zorca.
“Must you always be so rugged my dear Serpent?” Zorca regained some of his energy.
“I don’t like masks.” Thorn said darkly.
Letti felt rather silly and wished she had waited to follow Thorn’s lead.
“And what did you learn in my library today, my delightful fruit?” Zorca turned to Letti, who had begun to sweat. She hoped the gown would not betray her.
“I searched for some of the Durevin customs.” Letti kept her voice light. “I want to be prepared, should my travels take me there.”
“Did you?” Zorca looked as if there were nothing more in the world that pleased him more. “And did you learn how to comport yourself?”
“I think I grasped some of the nuance.” Letti scrunched her skirt under the table, thinking of Candor and the Fae under the streeets.
“Now that, I highly doubt.” Zorca placed both long, bony fingers on the table and peered down through his mask. “You could live in Durevin for your entire life and still be ignorant of their nuance.” Zorca tittered.
Annoyed, Letti tried to defend herself. “I learned the reason for the open palm is to offer someone wealth and hygiene, and there are certain dances to proclaim movement in between social ranks.”
“Good, good.” Zorca maintained his amusement. “And did you happen to come across the way one looks at another when one wishes to share soldiers?” Zorca’s gaze turned hard. “Or the paths one must tread to acquire new magic? The marriage proposals decades old for new babes?”
Letti did not respond.
“You know nothing of nuance.” Zorca said dismissively, but then he softened. “How could you? You have come from nothing. I do not mean to dissuade your studies of human interaction. Far from it, I encourage it. There is nothing near to the devastating power of human manipulation.”
Letti watched her sparkling glass fill with water as a servant shadowed her chair.
“I encourage you to visit Durevin.” Zorca sipped his own water, before snapping his fingers. “You should see as much of this land as you can, before you are stricken.”
Letti blanched.
“You might be blessed, who knows.” Zorca waved his hand. “But rarely are we. We’ve not been prosperous as we once were. Not since the mad king.”
Thorn leaned back, eyes on their host.
“It’s as if he… broke something in Icaria. Something that has yet to be fixed.” Zorca spoke softly, the soft flicker of the table’s candles flickering in his eyes. “There is naught good to be had, no longer. The empires, the civilization, I can only imagine it. We have known nothing but longing and hunger. And it drives us evermore to the same brink of madness.”
Velvet silence filled the room. The small tinkle of glass above the only sound in the fraying engagement. Not a body stirred, and Letti found herself nostalgic for the columns of empire, hanging baskets overflowing with perfect flowers, and roads travelled and paved with the height of civilization. She felt a tear run down her cheek as the reality of their world crashed once more around her; she realized the reasons behind Zorca’s interior design choices. He was trying to recreate a story he’d never lived, a utopia he’d never experienced.
Letti jumped as servants set dishes laden with fish and vegetables on the table. She watched as Zorca poured Thorn a generous glass of wine, before turning to offer her the decanter. Letti shook her head, but murmered a thank you. Zorca filled his own glass before placing the crystal on the table and grasping the stem of his drink in a toast.
“To absent friends.” Zorca gazed unblinkingly at Letti. “May they be ever found.”
He knows. Letti thought desperately. But Zorca did not seem to have anything else to say. Indeed, it reather appeared he was trying to respect Candor, despite her absence.
Thorn did not touch his wine but began helping himself to a large fish and several scoops of large red vegetables. Letti took what Thorn did, careful to avoid what he too omitted. Zorca observed her carefully.
“I have something for you.” Zorca said abruptly. The quiet of the room cracked with the screeching of his chair. Letti winced. Conversation had not flowed, and not a member of the table had attempted to offer any.
“Why are we here?” Letti hissed at Thorn, who had taken to swirling his wine dangerously around the top of his glass.
“We are here because our host requested our presence.” Thorn answered flatly. “He invited us because it is the thing a host does. This is the nuance of court.”
“We’re not at court.”
“We’re in an extension of court.” Thorn made sure to hold Letti’s gaze. “Anyone with power in Icaria is court. It is imperative you understand this, for I know what your heart is telling you about the Citadel. You must learn the human currents in this world. You forfeit your life if you do not.”
Letti realized she had been holding her breath as Thorn finished, his teeth bared. Rarely did he speak so ferociously. How does he know what I feel about the Citadel? Letti thought in panic. She had not even dared articulate the wrenching dread to herself.
Thorn sat back as Zorca trouped back into the room, all manner of splendor and elegance evaporated. In his hands sat a little white box. It looked very old.
“There are few things I know little of.” Zorca began, turning his entire body to face Letti. He seemed deflated, as if every knob of his bony body protruded from a suit too large for him. “I know history and nuance and evil. Yes, I know what I am.” Zorca nodded. “I don’t often acknowledge it, and I would do my life over much the same way if offered the same set of circumstances.
“But I know little of the currents of majik, of fate or destiny. Miquen was much better at listening to the whispers of the land.” Zorca paused, words catching in his throat. “He and I will not pass on any legacy, the Aslanti name, any child. We will end here, and ash will no doubt settle quickly the library.
“I cannot let that happen to this.” Zorca placed the box on the table. It shone, a polished piece of carving, so smooth and well conceived that it was hard to tell where the seams were to open it. It did not seem to have a lock.
“It opens with a small touch to the lock pad in the bottom.” Zorca took Letti’s hand gently and guided her finger to an almost imperceptible divot in the bottom of the box. “Don’t open it now.” Zorca’s eyes shone, and he dropped Letti’s hand, looking away.
“It is all I have left of my parents, my kin. It is the best and worst gift I can bestow upon you.” Zorca seemed to struggle but summoned the energy to face Letti once more.
“Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Don’t open it until you are utterly, truly, alone.”
And with that, Zorca excused himself from the table and dragged himself out of the dining room, leaving a bewildered Letti, a stoic Thorn, and a desolate table flickering in the dim light.
~.~
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