Snippet #1980990

"Right," Sorosillian rasped, then quickly cleared his throat. it had roughened with his worry, betrayed him - he had not wanted Isabella to know how he was feeling. His own anxiety made him flush with shame. It was silly, considering the way that his father had treated him... but he did not want the man to die. He had killed too many people in his short lifetime to want anyone else to die. Ever. And worse, it was his older brother going to do the killing - what if Iliam was hurt? Was killed, even? Sorosillian did not think he could bear to lose his brother again. He pushed himself upright, trying to cover up the crack in his mask. "Shall I help?"

A short distance away, Imail had swung his cloak over his shoulders and stoked the fire back to liveliness. In a brushing of his soft boots, he strode across the clearing and nudged Jake awake with one toe.
"Up," he commanded, and for once he sounded more like the late Prince Iliam than the servant Imail. "We leave immediately after breakfast. No delays."