âI have always preferred not to interfere. But nothing has burned me so much as that.â
[justify]Sephiriel passed through the hallways in silence, stopping not to speak to anyone in particular, though she did favor those who passed her by with nods and smiles. Most of the time, humans didnât make the attempt to hold conversations with her, partly because she was rarely anywhere but at Emrysâs side, and partially also because when she was encountered alone, most people seemed to be a little tongue-tied, something that she took to be a reflection of the strangeness of her nature to them. Sometimes, they puzzled her as well, even if her reactions to this were different. Perhaps something else was at play, but unless someone cared to explain it to her, she would simply not know.
Most unusually for her, she was not at the moment in the company of her contractor, who was deep into his research. Actually, she had volunteered to go to the palace library to retrieve a book he needed for the things he was working on. She was making the return trip at the moment, the tome tucked under her arm and against her hip. She was passing through a less-used portion of the building, near the portrait gallery, when suddenly her footsteps stopped and Sephiriel grew completely still.
The light that flickered and swirled beneath her eyes was perhaps the only clue as to what was going on. It was not often that she received unsolicited visions or messages, and so it was extremely necessary to pay attention to it. When at last the whispers in her mind grew quiet, Sephiriel blinked and diverted her course, for the portrait room itself.
She seemed unsurprised at what she saw, which in this case was an Asura poised to do what looked like biting a human, one that she recognized, though they had never in person spoken. He did appear in her visions from time to time, though. Sephirielâs face never lost its perfectly neutral, tranquil expression, but a translucent barrier appeared over the surface of the humanâs sin, glimmering in the low light and shielding him from the Asuraâs intention to taste, as it were. Her voice, while it was not loud, was in no way difficult to hear, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly with disapproval.
âApollyon. I do not see the necessity of taunting this man in achieving the objective of your contract. In fact, I rather think you should be finding your contractor about now, unless you desire to be banished back to Inferno so soon.â Her tone, like the set of her mouth, was completely bereft of moralizing or judgement, but firm. What she had seen bore on Lenoreâs existence, after all, and it was impending.
âDo not tell me of your convictions. Show me.â
She was as elegant and unerringly precise as she ever was, and these were certainly virtues, for one who wished to engage in combat. Her strikes were graceful, her speed nothing to be underestimated, even considering the weight and heft of the sword she wielded, which spoke as well to her strength. Yes, he was confident that, with just a little more time, she would be ready to lead the Crown of Thorns, should he ever be without the ability to do so. And having that assurance was undeniably a good thing.
She also did not lack for tactical intelligence, evinced by the fact that she struck right for where his blind spots were. Of course, Cyril was so long practiced at this that he didn't have to see to perceive, and each of those was met as rapidly and precisely as the strike was leveled, until their hands and weapons were blurring with the almost inhuman speed with which they were striking.
The clang of metal on metal rang out repeatedly over the practice field, the spectators who had once been murmuring finding the words dying in their mouths. They could only watch in silence, hearts in their throats. The flash of sunlight over armor and the spray of kicked-up sand from Chrysantheâs more acrobatic maneuvers were the visual accompaniment to that clangor, and for interminable time, it continued in such a way. Chrysanthe danced with all the grace of a hummingbird and strength of a lioness, but Cyril was simply impossible to gain the upper hand on. His movements were economical, lacking excessive flourish, but they were blurringly quick, and he was always the place he needed to be to block before her sword made contact.
He was fighting as though he wore no armor at all, his focus on parries and dodges that should not have been possible for a person wearing that much metal. Even though the enchanted armor could have blocked hits as well, he did not use it to do so. He could have been wearing only light clothes and remained unscathed. He had, after all, been taught to fight without armor, and he did not like to rely on it. He did not go on the attack, however, until he sensed she was tiring. As soon as it became the case that she was getting less out of the exercise than before, he abruptly switched his tactics, knocking aside her sword with greater strength than he had used before and bringing the point of his lance to rest impossibly quickly but a centimeter from the pale flesh of her neck.
The spar was over.
After a few minutes of stunned silence, the applause started, growing louder until it filled the practice area. Cyril lowered the lance, bringing it back to his side. There was something pleasant in his voice when he spoke, as though he might be smiling just slightly beneath the impenetrable helm. âThat was quite well-done, Vice-Commander.â From he, who so infrequently made any positive remarks about anything his subordinates did in training exercises, that was almost unbelievably high praise. âYou still telegraph your intentions, however. Your weight shifts too soon before you actually move, which gives your opponent the ability to predict you.â Of course, most opponents could still not block her, because she was too fast. But that would not hold for everyone, and some people were fast enough to take advantage of that predictability.
âSome things are more important than any life, if only to me.â
Siegmund sat upon his throne, head tilted slightly to his side and studying the visage of his court mage. The man was the most talented one in all of Dorthonion, and quite possibly in the entire part of the world that excluded Elysia, but he was still, the king had been informed, only what was referred to as level thirty-two. Considered prodigal, yes, but nothing next to Lord Uisnech or that snow-haired woman who had managed to summon the Asura. He was still collecting information about her, though all his spies had been able to relay to him was that her name was Lenore Ourania, the sole remaining member of one of the four noblest houses in Elysia, alongside Nishant, Uisnech, and Pallas.
She was the personal apprentice of the Headmaster of the Academy, but other than that and what appeared to be a personal friendship with the princess, there was very little said of her. It would seem that she remained outside of court politics for the moment, and while he would have expected someone like that to arrange a political marriage to another noble house at earliest convenience to preserve the prestige of hers, no such thing had even been discussed. She was reputed in much the same way as the Princess and the Lilac Paladin to be one of the loveliest women in Valnor, but it would seem that no official portraits of her existed. Not that he cared. As long as his spies and eventually assassins could identify her, it made no difference to him.
Btu his mage was telling him something very unusal.
âYouâre saying that someone else is making an attempt to kill her?â His eyes were narrowed to reptilian slits; was it possible that he had competition? No⊠no, for his purposes it didnât matter who killed her, only that she died.
The old man nodded and waved the staff he carried, producing a projection onto the far wall of the throne room. âI am scrying the location right now through the eyes of one of our agents.â The agent, from the perspective, was well-hidden, and as Siegmund watched, he could see what must be the girl, Lenore, standing with the princess in a garden. They were alone and unprotected. How ludicrous. It was no wonder this country had been so easy to gain entrance to.
Though⊠perhaps they were not entirely unprotected. He could see the light of magic staining the womanâs hands with red-pink light, and the expression on her face was one of serene calm. Certainly not what he would expect to see on someone who believed their life to be in danger. How interesting.
âLeave the projection there and instruct the agent not to move. I want to be able to see this.â
âJust because Iâm willing to give my life doesnât mean I will simply roll over and die if someone tries to kill me.â
Perhaps not to their faces, and certainly not to Lenoreâs, she and Calliope had been described by no few people, both in Elysia and elsewhere, as the sun and moon of Valnor. Much of it, of course, had to do with their colorationâwhile Callipoe was shaded in hues of gold and the warm colors of fire, Lenore shared the pale shine and silver-white of the moon. It was also, doubtlessly, a reference to the fact that both were incredibly pleasant to look upon, in a way that made the comparison to celestial bodies not as implausible as one might initially think.
Naturally, Lenoreâs thoughts were nothing of the kind as she clasped her friendâs hands warmly. âActually, I taught earlier this morning, and my lessons with Master Em aren't until this afternoon, so I was taking a walk.â Her delight at meeting her friend on her wanderings was evident, though her words themselves were soft.
At the mention of Apollyon, however, she was brought back to the thoughts sheâd been endeavoring to leave behind for a little while, and she blinked slowly a few times. So, they had met? She did not think the terms of their contract would allow the Asura to harm Cally in any way, especially because her fate was so tied up with that of Elysia as a whole, and any individual act of harm would have to be approved through her because of the way the price was extracted. But even so, it did concern her that Calliope had encountered him without Cy there for protection, at least. âBe careful, Cally. He is⊠well.â She shrugged and smiled distantly. The rest of the warning wasnât really necessary.
Then the subject of the Dorthoni king came up, and Lenore shook her head slowly. âI donât think so. Wanting to end war without violence is not a foolish wish, even if it turns out to be impossibleââ
Her voice came to an abrupt stop, and she turned to look at something over her shoulder. That was in the second before the arrow appeared, hurtling for them. With nothing more than a thought, Lenore deflected it, then turned to face in the direction from which it had appeared, stepping protectively in front of her best friend.
Magic collected at her fingertips, sheathing her hands in a bright glow. âI know you are there. Youâre not very good at hiding, Iâm afraid.â