Kastali Dun

Saffra cursed the gods more times than she could count in the days following the death of Cyrus. The austerity of her sorrow was suffocating. More stifling still were the walls and people surrounding her. There was no way to escape any of it.

The moments following her vision, when at last she knew Cyrus was truly dead, she confined herself within her chambers. She had neither the courage nor the forbearance to face the occupants residing within the keep. Suffering their questions, their mournful faces, their looks of sympathy, were impediments too heavy for her breaking spirit.

Unlike the many people within the keep's walls, she had truly known Cyrus. He was like a brother to her. There were few within the whole of Kastali Dun whom she found herself capable of caring for. But assuredly, Cyrus was one of them.

"Lady Saffra," Jocelyn spoke softly. Her handmaiden busied herself, tucking away their morning breakfast remnants whilst paying her worried glances. "Might we take a turn about the keep's gardens this day? It's such a lovely sunrise. The fresh air would do you great good, my lady."

Saffra heaved a sigh. She was indeed in need of fresh air. Perhaps it would help her mood. "I suppose, Jocelyn. I cannot avoid it forever."

"Wonderful. I will see to your attire then, my lady."

"Thank you, Jocelyn. My gray gown will do for today, and for every day following until I say otherwise." She planned to wear the color for some time. Nothing demonstrated mourning more accurately than the ashen shades of drab melancholy.

Nodding, Jocelyn retreated.

As she prepared for the day, Saffra's mind continuously reverted to the very sights she tried so hard to circumvent. The vision she saw within the king's council chambers, brief as it was, plagued her dreams. It haunted her footfalls. It preyed upon her with the intention of driving her mad.

While the gods saw fit to show her very little, they had bequeathed her with enough. What she witnessed in those short moments, Cyrus lying motionless, his body still with cold lifelessness, a stab wound to his abdomen, and skin blackened where another long gash was, disturbed her to no end. It was horrific.

And then there was the golden-haired woman with the unnerving green eyes. She'd been there, crying over his dead body. It was the same person that Saffra had seen since childhood. What could be the meaning? She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Should she tell the king?

He'd also remained locked away, taking no visitors. He'd even turned his guards away from the inner portions of his chambers. Only those standing watch outside remained. It was said that his grief placed him in a great rage, and none dared call upon him in such a state. Even his own Drengr Fairtheoir kept their distance.

Should she trouble an already burdened man with these worries? Was it necessary to share her vision? Surely knowing Cyrus was dead was enough. The king did not need the gritty details. She dreaded the idea of describing the blackened skin of Cyrus's body or the stab wounds he had suffered. And what of the woman? With no other culprits present at the scene, what were the gods trying to tell her? Was she guilty?

She considered the possibility. But surely it could not be! Her gut said it was not so. But...what if her familiarity had turned Saffra blind to her true colors?

"Here, my lady. Let me lace your ties." Jocelyn prompted her to turn. She acquiesced, only half-aware of Jocelyn as she went through the mechanical motions of dressing.

"There now. You are ready."

She gazed at her figure in the mirror. Every aspect of her appearance spoke of death. The blandness of her attire, the pale shade of her brown skin, the redness of her eyes. Even her expression spoke volumes about her sorrow.

She gazed at herself for many moments—a dangerous thing to do. Every time she allowed her mind to meander, it traversed the same perilous pathways.

"My lady? Shall we depart?" Jocelyn's voice was only a distant whisper in her consciousness.

She shut her eyes, giving her head a subtle shake to recover her thoughts. "Yes, yes. Let us go."

Together they walked through the flowerbeds and trees contained within the vast gardens of the Great Keep's lower levels. The beautiful greenery was a small island of paradise within a sea of wretchedness. How horrid cities were, with their awful stench, their filthy streets, their loud obnoxious noises. Not a day went by that she didn't long for her country home, poor as it was. She would have traded a hundred lavish lifestyles for the single possibility of returning to her family in such times of sadness. But duty and honor—these were the things that bound her. This was her position now, to which she was condemned. She was Lady Saffra, Royal Prophetess to King Talon. Hers would be a long life. A cursed life. Where she went, only grief and bad tidings seemed to follow.

"My lady?"

She turned. "I apologize, Jocelyn. What did you say?"

"Oh, no need for apologies, my lady. I was merely admiring the orange peonies there. Are they not beautiful at this time of year?"

She nodded. "Aye. They are. Cyrus's favorite flower, I do believe. He used to keep vases of them in his study, especially when my focus required aid." She did love the sweet scent they gave off, especially in the morning. Bending, she buried her nose in the nearest cluster of blossoms and inhaled. She was immediately calmed.

And then blackness took her.

She found a wilderness of vast hills set before the backdrop of monstrous mountains. There she beheld the Gate. She knew its likeness well. Its tall black pillars gleaming in the bright sunshine were akin to ominous sentinels of the landscape, as if they guarded the realm of Dragonwall.

A familiar face emerged. She barked a laugh in relief. Jovari was a welcome sight. The king worried so. Almost immediately, Koldis appeared. He too stepped from between the black columns. What he brought with him was not pleasing. Cyrus lay within his arms. The air fled her chest at the sight of his shrouded form.

She looked at the two of them as they silently regarded the landscape. Their eyes fell in her direction, as if they looked directly at her. It was almost eerie.

She patiently waited for the third and final member of their party. Reyr lingered. She very badly needed to see his appearance, to know that he too was alive and well.

She sighed when there was movement between the pillars. Reyr came forth, but he was not alone. She gasped. He emerged hand in hand, guiding someone. The very same golden-haired woman she'd seen before.

"My lady?" Jocelyn gently patted Saffra's face. "My lady? Is everything all right?" Jocelyn was used to her frequent fainting spells. They always left her handmaiden pale and scared.

"I'm fine, Jocelyn." She offered her handmaiden a weak and unconvincing half smile. Several whispers sounded from behind them. She could only guess that she had an audience. It was no wonder the keep's residents thought her strange. Many of them avoided her when they could. It was easy to see why. Dropping unconsciously in public must have appeared wholly unnatural to them. And it happened often, especially as of late.

"Help me to my feet, if you will," she asked. With Jocelyn's assistance, she was able to stand, although her limbs remained shaky and unstable.

The aftermath of the vision left her stomach churning. "I must see the king. Immediately."

Although Jocelyn did not reply forthwith, Saffra did not miss her handmaiden's intake of breath. It was a clear sign of her reluctance. It was not as if Saffra wanted to visit His Majesty under such circumstances. On the contrary, she desired to run as far as possible from him. Even the thought of him frightened her, knowing what a horrid state he was in.

"My lady, surely you are too unwell to visit the king. Let me take you back to your chambers such that you might regain your strength."

"Thank you for your concern, Jocelyn, but I must go to his tower directly."

Jocelyn was merely trying to protect her. None feared the king more than the common people. But he was only frightening on the outside to those who did not know him well. Generally, that encompassed the entire population of Dragonwall except those closest to him. Their reasons for fearing him were obvious to her. The awful scars upon his face, his mighty build, and his terrible temper gave him such a beastly reputation. It was no wonder that he was avoided.

However, he was a good ruler. She knew that the king would never harm her, despite Jocelyn's thoughts. Jocelyn and many others believed him to be capable of such brutish behavior merely based on the numerous tales that flew freely, but rumors were foolish, and people loved to gossip.

When she and Jocelyn entered the corridor leading to the king's tower, she dismissed her handmaiden. "I will direct myself from here, Jocelyn. Thank you." Jocelyn bowed her head and departed.

Saffra stood alone in the shadows for several long minutes, composing her thoughts. The castle's keep was quiet this morning. It was a blessing. She needed time to think.

Her mind was fraught with uncertainty. The king was entitled to know that Reyr was well, that the search party had indeed located Cyrus, and that they were now returning with him to the capital. He also deserved to know that the golden-haired woman accompanied them. To give the king adequate forewarning, such a surprise was best relayed in advance, and in private.

Her stomach clenched uneasily. She understood the tight spot this woman would be in. Outsiders were not permitted through any Gate. Stories did tell of such cases where strangers found themselves within the kingdom. These other-worlders always touted the same explanation, that they had traveled through a mysterious portal to find themselves in a strange land filled with dragons and magic. Such a retelling was ever their downfall. The penalty associated with using any Gate was death, especially if the traveler came from the other side. Too many dangers were associated with that unknown world.

The king would surely insist upon such a verdict when he learned of her. But furthermore, what would he do upon discovering that she was also present at the side of Cyrus's dead body?

Why did it feel as though she held the power of this person's fate in her hands?

Perhaps she could omit the truth—only a small portion of it. She could leave the second part out. She could pretend that she had never seen the woman before. She could avoid mention of her, claiming to have only witnessed Cyrus lying dead upon the grass, and Koldis, Jovari, and Reyr returning. But that would require lying to the king. What a terrible and deceitful act! Could she do such a thing?

Pursing her lips, she wiped her sweaty palms upon her gown and straightened her skirts. Then, she proceeded forward to the king's tower. It was time to do her duty.

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