OoOoO

It was raining in Amenthere, which suited Roran's mood just fine. The atmosphere of the entire Tower of the Elements had been downright depressive ever since the night of 'The Fire'. Roran and Brand hadn't even been there when Arzai and the other Obads set the Undorian jungles ablaze. They hadn't needed to be.

Roran may only have been seventeen, but he knew that he would carry the memory of The Fire with him all the rest of his days. He and Brand had been sitting alone in front of the fireplace in the Tower of the Elements when they first felt it. It had begun slowly; a vague feeling of unease. As the sensation began to build and build, the boys had been unable to hide their disquiet from one another. Brand, being only eleven, had been the first to break down into tears.

"The birds, Roran! They're burning! They're scared, and the smoke is choking them!"

Roran had been helpless to do anything but hold the younger boy in his arms and rock him. There had been no one in the tower to comfort Roran though. While the powers of Air echoed the cries of the birds and the scorched southern winds to Brand, Roran felt it in his bones as every tree twisted and blackened. With the screams of the forest creatures reverberating across his very soul, Roran's first instinct had been to cry out for his teacher - the Magicol's elder Green Obad - Bvhoros.

Bvhoros was dead though; killed by Stargazer assassins. Roran wanted to be angry at the Stargazers and their new ringleader, the Undorian rebel Vinie BlackPearl. Now that he knew what King Mahir and the other Obads had done by way of revenge, however, Roran felt only shock. That, and the lingering pain of a hundred-million leaves, crumbling into ashes before the Obads' magic.

His leg cramped, and Roran realized that he'd been leaning against the stairwell windowsill for almost an hour now. Dragging himself back into the quiet, miserable silence of the present, he resumed his original journey back up the spiral stone stairs.

Above the tower's common room – once a cozy place filled with sunlight and the chatter of Ovates and Obads alike, now grey and empty – the second floor housed the individual living quarters of the Magicol. Four rooms stood empty; a hollow contrast to the four rooms currently occupied. Besides Bvhoros, Roran mourned the loss of three others from their order. First to go had been Master Tomur, the former High Obad, and Margalee, a Blue Obad. Margalee had been caught in the act of aiding an assassination attempt on King Mahir's life. When questioned, Master Tomur insisted that it was on his bidding that Margalee had acted. Only by invoking a royal boon had Tomur and Margalee's lives been spared. Instead, the two of them had been blinded and put out to wander in the wilds. Whatever became of them, Roran did not know, but he still wondered every night before sleep if his former teacher was safe...or even alive.

Most recently lost to the Magicol, besides Bvhoros, was Ijireen, a teenage Red Ovate and Roran's former peer. Although Ijireen had been very much alive when she betrayed the king, Roran was afraid of what might have befallen her since. The Undorian rebels had taken Ijireen along when they fled the capital, which meant that she must also have been with them when The Fire overtook the south. Although Roran knew very well that fire could not harm a Red Obad (or Ovate), there were many other ways in which Ijireen could have come to harm. She may never have been particularly friendly toward him, but Roran hoped for her safety regardless, even if it might have been treason now to do so.

The doors to both Frandel and Davenir's quarters were shut. Upon returning to Amenthere after The Fire, the Grey Obad had gone straight to his room and locked the door. Frandel was behaving similarly reclusively, although Roran suspected that had more to do with the Red Obad sulking over his former student's recent betrayal than any sense of guilt or grief. Brand's door was open, and for a moment Roran considered checking in on the younger boy. The High Obad's door also sat slightly ajar, which could only mean that Arzai was currently up in the study on the topmost floor. It was her that Roran wanted most to speak with right now, and so he continued onward up the stairs with a sigh.

Sure enough, when Roran knocked on the heavy oak door atop the tower's staircase, there came a muted "Enter" from within. He found Arzai seated behind the modestly elegant black desk of the High Obad, a swath of papers and books spread out in front of her. The drumming of raindrops on the glass domed roof of the tower made the space echo with a near oppressive emptiness. All the various elemental experiments – once the work of Master Tomur and his students in times of peace – sat gloomily on the benches ringing the study, veiled in a soft sheen of dust. The juvenile dragon skeletons in the corner seemed somehow subdued; more statues than remnants of living, breathing creatures.

Even Arzai herself looked tired and washed-out to Roran. Setting down her quill atop pages filled with precise, elegant cursive, Arzai cocked her head questioningly.

"Yes? What is it, Roran?"

"Can we talk?"

Arzai indicated the chair opposite hers across the desk, and Roran slowly lowered himself to sit. Close up, he could clearly see the dark circles underneath the Red Obad's eyes. Unsure how to begin, Roran looked to the pile of books between them.

"These are texts on Air theory," he noticed aloud. "What do you need them for?"

Arzai sighed. "Davenir is...unwell, and will not be able to teach Brand for the foreseeable future. Since it is the right and duty of the High Obad to train the Ovates anyways, I've decided it is time I educated myself on the other elements' theories just as Mast-...just as Tomur once did."

Roran did not need to ask why Davenir was feeling unwell. Every time he let his own mind wander, he remembered the groaning of trees and the wailing of beasts. The thought alone was enough to make his palms go clammy.

"Have you had the chance yet to go through Bvhoros's belongings and books?" asked Arzai. "I know he had several weeks' worth of Earth material planned out for your studies."

Sorting through the elder Green Obad's room and all its contents had been one of the gloomiest tasks Roran had ever undertaken. He swallowed and nodded. "Yes, he did. I found the lessons, as well as several books, scrolls, and papers he wrote."

"What do you make of them?"

"What do you mean?"

Arzai leaned forward to prop her elbows on the desk, studying Roran. The golden ring of the High Obad gleamed on her middle finger. "Can you follow Bvhoros's work, understand his theories, and grow your own knowledge? I understand that, by proper reckoning, you are still a year or two shy of completing your studies as an Ovate. If I could go back and undo history, I would never have seen you left without an experienced mentor this late in your training." Arzai's handsome face soured in a grimace as she nudged one of the Air texts before her. "It is going to take me a great deal of time and effort just to learn enough Air theory to teach Brand, and he is only a child. As of Bvhoros's death, there is no one in this Magicol properly equipped to teach you. What I am trying to say is that your future as an Obad is in your own hands now, Roran."

Without any other Green Obads to learn from, what Arzai was saying only made sense. That did not lessen the feeling of being suddenly adrift, shifting alone through almost a thousand years of accumulated elemental knowledge with no one to guide him. The day before, Roran had tried to tackle the subject of plate tectonics on his own. What should have been straightforward material - after being broken down and organized by Master Tomur or Bvhoros - instead felt intimidatingly complex. How could he not only teach himself such things, but develop his own theories and advancements upon them? Roran had little choice now though. Every Green Obad before him had always left the understandings of Earth a little further along than they had been. How could he do any less?

"It may take me longer than it could have with a teacher..." said Roran slowly "...but I'm sure I will eventually be able to follow in Bvhoros's footsteps."

Arzai smiled and, just briefly, the High Obad once again looked her age. "Good man," she said, settling back in her chair. Then she arched her brows at him. "That isn't why you came up here to talk with me though, is it?"

"No. I wanted to ask you something, Master."

Roran hesitated, unsure how to safely proceed. Arzai and Margalee had been the closest of friends once, but that had not prevented Arzai from overseeing Margalee and Tomur's punishment for treason.

"You want to know why we burned the jungles of Undor."

It was simply stated, and very close to Roran's intended purposes. Even though it was Arzai who had said as much, Roran still fidgeted nervously as he tried to gather himself.

"I want to know why we do anything on King Mahir's orders. At first, I was afraid that we might be punished as traitors like Margalee and Tomur, and that we were trying to protect the Magicol by regaining the king's favour. But then, after we learned waking magic...after what I saw in The Lair...how Davenir held up that entire dragon statue ..." A giddy sensation overtook Roran. The ice on which he was treading now was definitely thin, but he couldn't bite his tongue any longer. "Do we serve Mahir because we're afraid of him? And if we are, I wonder if we needn't be?"

Arzai sat staring at Roran for a very long time. The rain continued to fall on the tower's observatory windows, the dreary pit-pat echoing in the silence. The intensity of her ruby-red gaze made Roran wonder if this wasn't how a deer might have felt when confronted by a dragon in ancient times. It came almost as a relief when Arzai at last spoke, even though Roran had no idea what she might say.

"Come with me."

Arzai led Roran over to the steps at the bottom of the nearest scaffold. He followed her up the ladder and across a narrow wooden walkway to the nearest window. Even though it was a grey and dismal day, they still had an all-encompassing view of the city of Amenthere beyond the castle walls.

"Look out there, and tell me what you see."

Unsure whether he was about to be chastised in some way, Roran hesitated. When Arzai simply stood waiting, hands tucked into the crooks of her arms, he turned to the window and looked out over the city.

"It's Amenthere, just as it's always been."

"Wrong." The corner of Arzai's mouth twitched in what could have been a smirk. "Amenthere has not always been like this."

Roran could only frown in confusion, and so Arzai elaborated.

"In the time of First King Amenthis, the people of Goran lived in little more than huts, built from straw and clay. They huddled around fires, drank from rivers, never knowing how to make their lives better. It wasn't until our kind – The Obads – united with King Amenthis that humankind began to understand the world in which they lived. For as long as there have been heirs of Amenthis on the throne, there have been Obads by their side. From our studies and our labours, the people have gained knowledge of such things as oil lanterns, indoor plumbing, metallurgy, glass-blowing, pottery, medicine, and more. Did you know that, before all this began, Bvhoros and I were working together on a project using coal gas to provide lighting?"

That did bring a spark of recognition to Roran's memory. "I saw that paper! Bvhoros had even sketched ideas for something he called a 'bulb', which could shed enough light to brighten an entire room without wood or oil!"

"Yes, we were getting so close to bringing the idea before King Mahir. Just a few finishing touches were needed." Arzai's expression took on a faraway look as they watched the distant glow of lanterns in Amenthere's windows. "Then came the assassination attempt, and everything changed. I still have faith though, Roran. Either in Mahir's reign - or if not then certainly in Hithon's - we Obads will be restored to our true purpose; bettering the world with our magic for those who live in it. Peace will return, and when it does, our place is at the right-hand of the throne, where we have always been.

We are symbionts, the Magicol and the throne. Without the Obads, the heirs of Amenthis lack the might to uphold their reign undisputed. And now, thanks to the rediscovery of waking magic, they know it." Arzai wrinkled her nose scornfully. "The one thing Frandel has ever done which benefited someone other than himself. Likewise, without the royal house, we would be little more than marketplace magicians, peddling tricks on street corners or amusing wealthy patrons. We Obads would have neither this ancestral tower in which to gather, nor the means by which to share our gifts with Goran. If the bond between crown and Magicol were lost, the world would be a poorer place for it. Do you understand now, why we stay?"

A part of Roran did understand. Another part of him, one wise enough to remain silent, still revolted against serving a man who could burn an entire forest to the ground in the name of vengeance. Mahir would not be king forever though, Roran reminded himself. Perhaps in fifty years, perhaps sooner if the Factionists continued to rise, Mahir's reign would end. When that day came, Hithon would be king after his father. Roran could serve Hithon, of that he was certain. Following Arzai's implied logic, it was just a matter of patience.

"You must...protect...time is coming..."

Bvhoros's last words came back to Roran. The time was coming...but coming for what? Whatever the Green Obad had meant, Roran resolved to stay close to the prince's side, even if meant continuing to feign obedience to Mahir.

"Yes Master, I understand why we stay. The king will need us, especially in the days to come."

It was by deliberate choice that Roran obliquely did not refer to 'the king' by name. A brief flash of what might have been perfect understanding passed between Roran and Arzai.

"Good. Then in that case, I think you have a great deal of studying to contend with...as do I."

Arzai glanced down at the desk swamped in papers with a sigh. Roran remembered the stack of eye-crossing texts currently piled in his room and likewise cringed.

OoOoO

On his way back down the stairs, Roran noticed that the balcony doors halfway up the tower were open, allowing a pool of rainwater to gather on the landing. He was about to close them when he noticed the small figure of Brand out by the railing. It was still very much raining outside, and the Grey Ovate looked positively drenched. At a loss, Roran steeled himself before stepping outside onto the balcony.

"Brand? What are you doing out here?"

The younger boy gave a start before spinning around. His pearlescent grey eyes were wide, dark lashes plastered to Brand's pale cheeks. Once Brand realized who it was though, he waved Roran over.

"You're going to catch a-"

"I know he can't hear you, but don't worry, Roran believes me."

"I...what?" Roran paused in mid-step, confused. His shoulders and chest were already getting wet straight through his shirt. Brand continued to speak to the empty air next to him.

"Maybe it won't be all that bad, you know. Especially since-"

"Brand...who are you talking to?" Shifting from confusion to concern, Roran approached the Grey Ovate cautiously.

"The queen, of course. She's very kind, but very worried too. They're all worried."

"Who's all worried? Come on, you had better get inside, it's freezing out here!"

Brand hardly seemed concerned with the rain at all. If Roran hadn't been alarmed before, he most certainly was when Brand looked up at him and smiled.

"She likes you, you know. I keep telling them that the prince will be alright, you're good at looking out for others."

"Keep telling who!? Brand, this isn't funny anymore! Now get inside before I tell Davenir!"

Brand just shrugged. "Davenir hears them too, I told you before. He believes me."

That pricked at Roran's memory. He recalled a conversation on the tower rooftop earlier that summer between himself, Brand, and Ijireen.

"Wait...is this about the people that you said you and Davenir were hearing? The people who you thought might be dead?"

"Yes! That's them! And they-" Abruptly Brand stopped short, cocking his head to one side. Raindrops slid behind his ears and down his neck into the back of his sodden shirt, but Brand didn't so much as shiver. After a pause he continued, but in the thread of a completely different conversation. "No, I don't think anyone has quite realized yet, but I did see the one in The Lair in his talking shape."

"His talking what??" Roran was just about to go shouting for Davenir, no matter how 'unwell' the Grey Obad was, when movement on the royal balconies several stories below the Tower of the Elements caught his notice.

"Oh good, he's here!" exclaimed Brand. Hopping up on the bannister, he leaned over far enough to set Roran's teeth on edge. "Prince Hithon!"

Sure enough, the Prince of Goran himself stood out on the balcony below, likewise being drenched by the chilly autumn rain. At the beginning of the summer, Hithon had been a small, slight boy, almost as small as Brand. Now, even though he was only a few months past thirteen, Roran knew Hithon would have stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him were they alongside one another. That, and Roran did not need to be close up to know about the faint, leaf-like patterns that covered every inch of the prince's skin; the aftermath of a botched attempt at channeling Earth magic. Since the incident, in an effort to protect Roran from his father's wrath, Hithon had taken to wearing face paint in the manner of his mother's people, the Vaelonese. Although the prince wore a hooded cloak against the rain, Roran suspected that the paint would all be washed off regardless by the time Hithon went inside.

Hithon seemed unconcerned. His gaze fixed on Roran and Brand above him, he approached the railing of the royal balcony. It was too far a distance to call out across the rain. Roran raised a hand in greeting though, and Hithon echoed the gesture. Then the prince reached into a pocket and came out with a folded note.

"I'll get it," said Brand. Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath. A faint, droning sound arose from within the Grey Ovate, and Roran recognized the casting trance the Obads once used. That was before the rediscovery of waking magic, which now allowed the Obads to use their powers awake and in full command of themselves. It was a skill that Brand had never yet mastered, and Roran found himself suddenly wistful for the soothing haze of a casting trance.

Apparently recognizing what Brand was doing, Hithon quickly busied himself over the note. A moment later, he held the parchment aloft, now folded into the shape of a little bird. It wouldn't last long in the rain, but Brand was ready. Despite the downpour all around, a sudden gust of wind rose beneath the paper bird's wings, lifting it straight from Hithon's outstretched hand.

Roran caught the bird-note, quickly opening it before the rain could run the ink any further. He needn't have worried though; Hithon's message was still fully legible.

'My father cannot be trusted anymore. If you or any of the other Obads ever need help, I promise you will have my protection."

Heart pounding, Roran looked down to where Hithon stood, waiting. Roran nodded once, slowly and deliberately, and Hithon did the same. Then, quick as blinking, the prince turned away to disappear back inside the royal apartments, leaving Roran clutching the damning note. What Hithon suggested was essentially superseding his father's authority. How could a thirteen-year-old prince possibly protect an Obad? For Hithon to make such a claim was a seismic shift in the balance of the royal house.

Brand's cold fingers on his brought Roran back to the moment. "Don't worry, everything will be alright. They say that Prince Hithon is important."

Roran swallowed hard. "Important? For what?"

"Everything."

Not knowing what else to say, Roran opened his hand, allowing the rain to fall on the parchment until Hithon's words were nothing more than streams of blue ink falling to the stones below.

OoOoO

Later that night, Arzai stood in the hallway outside the royal apartments, hesitating. This was not the first time that she had received a royal summons to meet in private with Mahir. It was, however, the first time she had been instructed to come directly to the royal living quarters. Every meeting previous had always occurred either in the Tower of the Elements or in the king's study. To be here, at this hour, alone, felt...unnerving.

Lifting her hand, Arzai rapped on the oaken door. She heard a brisk "Enter" from within and, gathering her wits, pulled the handle and stepped across the threshold.

Novice cleaning staff around Castle Armathain were always keen to gossip about the details of the royal apartments, and so Arzai was not entirely unprepared for her new surroundings. The main space was a comfortable looking parlour, the far wall of which was dominated by a brick fireplace. Sofas of garnet red velvet were arranged around the hearth, and on one of these Mahir himself was sitting, a writing board on his lap and a quill in hand. The king wore a black dressing gown over night-clothes, and even though he was technically fully clothed Arzai still felt her stomach clench uncomfortably. This was decidedly unlike any other summons which she had previously received.

Arzai was able to breathe slightly easier when Mahir gestured for her to take the seat opposite him. Folding the skirts of her robes beneath her, she sat with ramrod-straight posture, her shoulders unerringly square and chin up. This may have been somewhat of an unorthodox setting for an official meeting, but Arzai was nothing if not adaptable. Lacing her fingers together, she sat patiently and waited.

"I've had word from Princess Ellorae."

That certainly piqued Arzai's interest. "Has she safely arrived in Derbesh then, Your Grace?"

Mahir's smile was far more sardonic than Arzai would have expected. "Oh yes, she is more than alright. In fact, I would say she's entirely too comfortable already." When Arzai waited politely for clarification, Mahir waved a letter between two fingers. "Ellorae has declared herself my rival for the throne."

"What!? But that's impossible! She is second-born, and thus below Prince Hithon in the line of succession."

"Since when did the natural orders of the world ever concern my sister?" Dropping the letter, Mahir let it drift dismissively to land on the rug between them. "Regardless, no sooner do I deal with a snake under one foot than I find a scorpion under the other."

"Is that why you called me here this evening, my lord?"

"Partially. What is the status of our Magicol?"

Arzai shifted, crossing her legs. "Not very good I'm afraid. After...recent events...we are left with two Red Obads – including myself – one Grey Obad, and two Ovates. Davenir is...not coping well."

With a frown, Mahir set his quill down and focused the full force of his attention on Arzai. "Not coping, as in physically? Or mentally?"

"Largely the latter. We Obads are quite tied to our elements, and there has admittedly been a lot to deal with lately in that regard."

"How long before Davenir would be fit to travel, in your estimation?"

"Travel? Travel where?" asked Arzai.

Mahir turned the writing board toward Arzai, so that she could see what he was working on. Bold cursive at the top revealed an official royal statement.

"With Ellorae now challenging me for the throne, and Clan A'Khet behind her, it doesn't take much imagination to predict that many if not all of the other seven clans will join her. The clansfolk have always been a power-hungry lot, but thankfully their own internal squabbles have kept them occupied throughout much of time. With Ellorae setting me up as a universal enemy though, this might just be the catalyst that unites the seven clans. At very least, Clan A'Khet has certainly demonstrated a willingness to engage in treason, especially their eimir, Rhadu. Between Ellorae's influence and Clan A'Khet's current stewardship of The Weeping Keep, there is just too much risk in allowing this challenge to go unanswered. I intend to address my sister's betrayal both to the people of Goran...and more directly."

Treading cautiously, Arzai considered her words before answering. "If it is an Obad whom you need to address Clan A'Khet's support of Ellorae, there are others whom might be better equipped. Frandel has recently traveled in the east, and is always eager to undertake new assignments."

"Especially if they place him far away from Castle Armathain?" Mahir raised an eyebrow at Arzai, and it took Arzai's pulse a moment to recover as she realized that the king was merely teasing her. "Your suggestion is not without merit though, High Obad. If Davenir is currently in fragile condition, perhaps it would be best not to send him alone. He and Frandel could achieve far more together, especially if Frandel has any familiarity with Derbesh. I would have selected Bvhoros for this task but..."

That 'but' hung heavy in the air, like smoke. Arzai was of two minds concerning Bvhoros's death. On one hand, the Green Obad had been a fixture in her life ever since she was brought to the Magicol as a child. His death felt as close to losing an uncle...perhaps even a father...as Arzai was ever likely to come. On the other hand, even though Bvhoros had never openly challenged her, his presence as an elder Obad within the Magicol had implicitly undermined her authority as High Obad. Now, without Tomur, Margalee, or Bvhoros, Frandel remained the only real threat to Arzai's position. She would prefer not to send Davenir out on a mission of war though. The Grey Obad simply was not built with the same fiery spirit as herself and Frandel.

"Is Davenir's presence of such importance to this errand, Your Grace? With full honesty and respect, the ranks of our Magicol are beginning to grow depleted. If something were to happen, I would be the only fully trained Obad remaining in Amenthere."

"Which is another part of why I have asked you here tonight." Mahir set aside the writing board entirely. He leaned forward, fingertips propped together between his knees. "At what stage would you judge the training of the Green Ovate, Roran, to be? I believe you told me this summer that Bvhoros had assumed mentorship of the boy?"

The irony of having had this very conversation with Roran himself earlier in the day was not lost on Arzai. "Under ordinary circumstances, Your Grace, Roran would still be at least one year away from attaining the rank of Obad. He is both capable and disciplined though, and has assured me that he will be able to complete the remainder of his studies self-guided. Unfortunately, without a teacher, his progress will likely be slowed, but he will likely be ready to receive an Obad's robes by his twentieth Birth Day."

The firelight caught and highlighted a slight frown pulling at Mahir's brows. "But is it not so that, once graduated to the rank of Obad, members of the Magicol conduct their studies self-guided anyways?"

"That is more or less true. I still often sought the guidance of the former High Obad on more complicated matters, and would have also consulted with older Red Obads were there any present."

"Then, by that reasoning, Roran is already conducting himself as a fully recognized Green Obad would. Is that not so?"

Arzai could see where this was going, and on this subject she knew she would have to dig her heels in, or at least try to. It was no surprise that, thanks to waking magic, the Magicol was now being wielded as a tool of war by the king. Ovates, being only untested children, were not fit to be sent into battle. Obads, however, were. With Davenir and Frandel apparently about to be sent out onto the front lines yet again, Mahir was looking to replenish the ranks. Thinking fast, Arzai deployed the only gambit she could come up with on short notice.

"Presenting one's self as something and actually meriting the title are two very different things, Your Grace, as your sister is clearly demonstrating this very moment. This is not something that the Magicol commonly shares beyond our own, but before an Ovate can be declared a full Obad, they must be successfully tested by the High Obad. Before Roran can take on the mantle of a Green Obad, I will have to evaluate his skills to my satisfaction."

Mahir cocked his head curiously. "Oh? But you are not a Green Obad yourself. How will you know if his skills are adequate, Master Arzai?"

"There are specific criteria - particular spells and knowledge - which Tomur had outlined among his notes," Arzai lied smoothly, utilizing all the force of conviction left to her by her Syrinese ancestry. "I will also have to give Roran proper notice that he is to be evaluated for graduation."

"How long?"

Already planning the ways in which she might fail Roran on his 'evaluation', Arzai chose a number at random. "Two weeks."

This thankfully seemed to be enough to satisfy Mahir. "Very well then. I'll look forward to hearing more about the progress of the Magicol's newest Obad, when he is deemed worthy. That just leaves one last order of business for the night."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

It might have been Arzai's imagination, but Mahir suddenly looked almost...uncertain? He hid it admirably well, but Arzai noted how he shifted to the edge of the couch, his hands fiddling amongst themselves.

"I am concerned about Hithon."

"How so? Prince Hithon is a bright, healthy boy, and very soon to be nearly as tall as his father."

"Yes, he most certainly is those things, and more besides. It is the things he is not that concern me though. Tell me, Master Arzai, if I were die tomorrow, would my son make a good king?"

Unsure what exactly Mahir was getting at, Arzai chose her words carefully. "He is your son, my lord, your firstborn and only child. Of course Prince Hithon will be king after you. You will not die tomorrow though, not with me at your side."

Mahir shook his head. "It is not a question of his right to be king, it is a question of his willingness. Hithon may have made a truly wonderful king...in a time of peace. These are not peaceful days though. The line of Amenthis is under siege, not only from outside but now also from within. He challenged me on the necessity of defending ourselves against the Factionists, did you know that?"

"No...I did not, Your Grace."

"When I pressed him on the matter, warning him that such lack of fortitude might cost him his kingship, his answer to me was 'Good'. Almost as if – it costs me greatly to admit this to you, and only you – Hithon might one day reject the crown I am fighting so hard to preserve for him. If that were to be the case, the crown would pass to Ellorae. From what we have now seen, it is clear that my sister's ambitions are for herself, and not for the good of the realm. She cannot be allowed to assume power under any circumstances. Do you understand what I am saying, Arzai?"

The heat of the fireplace was making Arzai's palms sweat. Or perhaps she only thought it was; the gooseflesh on the back of her neck was more suggestive of a chill than anything else. There was an intensity in the king's eyes as he leaned forward, approaching Arzai's space as much as he could while still seated on the opposite couch.

"What is it exactly that you are saying, Your Grace?" She spoke with as much benign detachment as possible.

"If it should come to pass that Hithon either refuses or is unable to assume the throne, there must be an heir besides Ellorae to take on that duty in his stead. I will always love my wife, the Lady Gwynnis. She was the brightest light in my life, just as she is now the brightest star in the night sky I look to each night. I am not, however, an old man by any stretch of the imagination. There is still time left to me, time in which I might father another heir. It would not have to be a matter of love, although I have not closed my heart entirely to the notion. A future king or queen of Goran cannot have just any mother though."

"My lord, I mus-"

Reaching out across the space between them, Mahir took hold of Arzai's hand. His grip was warm and firm, while Arzai's fingers were frozen in surprise.

"I know that is it the custom of the Obads never to wed or produce children, and until now I have respected that. In times such as these however, setting a new course might almost certainly be forgiven. If you are willing, we could unite the crown and the Magicol once and for all, just as they were always meant to be. Say the word, Arzai, and I will give you not only myself, but a crown and a throne to match."

Heart hammering in her ears, Arzai scrambled to pull herself together. She had always feared that it might come to this. Ever since she was a young girl, men (and occasionally women) had gazed upon her with awe and desire. Queen Gwynnis had once told Arzai that she would be considered beautiful even by the lofty standards of the Vaelonese. Arzai had been only sixteen at the time, completely unaware of the trap which her own face would eventually lay for her. There was ultimately only one answer which she could give, regardless of the consequences. Slowly, she drew her hand back from Mahir's grasp.

"Please, Your Grace, I beg you not to take this as a slight against you. I cannot accept your offer, the main reason being that I would be unable to fulfill even the most basic requirement of such an arrangement."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Mahir, consternation all over his face.

"I cannot give you children. I have no desire for the necessary acts, with you or any other man."

A guarded sort of understanding began to bloom in Mahir's dark eyes. "But if I were to have been a woman offering the same..."

Arzai shook her head. "Not then either. My private person belongs to myself, and only myself. I have fulfilled many roles in this life; daughter, sister, student, peer, and subject. Never though will I be anyone's lover or wife."

"I see."

For several long, fraught moments, Mahir and Arzai eyed one another across the hearth, each with a new understanding of the other. Then, at last, Mahir sat back on the couch and picked up his quill.

"In that case, Master Arzai, I would request that we forget the last two minutes ever happened. It is my wish that we carry on just as we have been, as king and High Obad. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, absolutely," breathed Arzai, trying to mute the relief in her voice.

"Good. You are free to return to the Tower of the Elements, I believe you have an evaluation to prepare for our future Green Obad."

There was a note of deliberate humour in Mahir's smile as he nodded goodnight. Then, turning his attention back to the statement he was drafting, he did not watch as the Red Obad departed the room.

"Irony, thy name is Arzai," Mahir murmured to the flames on the hearth. 

OoOoO