So what then was Javid's? Was it the same...in that case, the existence of the flora could be attributed to the foliage created by Rhaena for the coronation.
Was there some coronation?
"What a lad," Barristan said simply. "A highHeir."
"Yes."
"Same age as that one from Honor. The highHammer Highness."
"What?" Ivory paused. A highHeir the same age as me? I knew that honor had such, but...is this right? "Would this highHeir be present today?"
Barristan regarded her, and for a moment she sensed a glint of intelligence within those deeply black eyes. Above human intellect at the very least. Then it was gone, replaced by an almost dopey expression. "I don't know much about that."
Except that you do.
Why is he hiding it from me?
A secret?
A timid figure hurried before them--a woman, head bowed, metal links connected tightly in her hair. A handmaiden? Dressed in the darkened gown of theirs.
She chimed, obviously afraid of the gore splattered through the hall. Ivory had attempted the mental blurring of the details: the blood-soaked floors, the red unintentional tapestry sprayed over the walls. Then there was the matter of the bits and pieces of flesh scattered about.
"What is it?"
The woman snapped out. "The Highness, Valor of Argon, Warden to stone bastion--"
Ivory tuned out the titles. Always? Why--what was the need for the continual reverberation? At this point, the totality of the words could be found in every pearl of awareness within her mind. Such was the power of repetition.
The maid arrived at the necessities. "You are invited to something called the King's room."
Ah! Ivory nearly panicked. "I see." She managed some level of expression control and turned to Barristan, bowing. Normally, that was for him to do, but alas, the need to make friends outweighed the customs. After all, he had, for survival reasons, defended Valor....They all had.
Beware the shadowman--Author unknown.
Ivory picked up a jar of wine, rounded the three-sided room, her eyes often drifting to the imposing grand statues. Solemn watchers, all of them. Odd. Who could have imagined that a bare two meters of stone could be this overwhelming? Except there were countless of them, all watching, each bearing the exact likeness of some dead Valorian Highness.
She noted Aelinor--father to Gladwell, Illenna, and Argon. What kind of a man was he?
Of course, like most highnesses, their lives were layered with the masks of myth. One such, was a battle against Robert Gladstone. A conflict that ended with the shattering of the latter's ribs. Unknown if that held any measure of trueness.
Back to reality.
The jar spewed red into the black goblets. Many a figure now sat on the round table, with Argon facing them. A few unknowns amongst them. From the Stonelands, in the city of light, was a representative of the Fray Clan. Adara. She sat nearest to Argon--one of the six or seven daughters of Fray. She acted the role of the Clan's Regent.
Appearance:
White haired, more silvery than lustrous, skin, a strange whitish glow. Not pale, but a rather peculiar shade. Around her pupils, black, was a glassy ring. Distinctive. Ivory had learned this trait as a shared thing amongst the Fray Clan. Likely a symbolic corruption of sorts.
They were the owners of the silverAssurer Order!
And this woman, Adara, was donned in a sleeveless silver dress, a crystalline necklace around her neck.
The other, Ivory noted, was a blonde-haired man--fair-skinned, a contrast to the whiter other seated next to him. Clothed in that foamy, padded coat. White, with lines of embroidered gold. Blue-eyed. He was of Honor. That much was obvious.
Henrik, yes, that was his name.
She wondered about gleaming information about this Young Highness of theirs.
Perhaps I might even be invited to highHammer in the south.
Then there was another--male. An older man--beard dropping down to his chest, white. He wore a hooded cloak, obvious in the mystical quality added to it. That one was of the whiteTower Clan. His name was unknown.
She poured him a drink and was rewarded with not even a glance. Somehow, it seemed the man was annoyed by his own very presence,
Give a whiteTower a book and leave them in peace...An old saying.
Many more surrounded the room, their wits on their person. She regarded Master Geld and that subtle smile of his--so unodium like. Observably, the Odiums were more brutish than civilized, a rather odd thing given the path Casters often take in their advancement. One would expect any caster to be a creature of intellect, cynical, yes, but cognitive. For the Odiums, that was seldom true.
For a Clan that owns the changeWeaver order, they do rarely change...She knew the attempted quib, her shoulder slightly bumping into the high chair of a woman. Obvious by the long dark blue hair that cascaded down the back. Not a member of the Riverend Clan, she thought, as no Lords of Vassal Clans were allowed into the King's room.
Which was she?
The woman scoffed at something said, arm resting curtly on her jaw.
Ah, yes..She is of the vileStorm clan—principal Clan of the Vale of Storms.
Ivory revised the known data, found little information on the identity of the given woman. As was expected, barely did the women of vileStorm reveal anything of their history or leaders. Except for Morgan, Ivory knew the woman was somewhat gifted to the House of Noctis years ago.
Reason unknown.
And then there was the matter of their history. Outside the fictitious belief of their descent being attributed to the moon, a woman known as the Great Mother, and a great battle in the vale of storms. Little was known.
Ah, and yes...the first, or specifically the first known highness of the clan, Alyssa vileStorm.
Ivory nodded, rounding the table towards yet another figure--important as all of them were. The final representative was of the House of Noctis. Surprisingly, Barristan Night was not the chosen delegate. What he was; was a mere guard.
The designated one was a stout figure, narrow-jawed, dark-eyed, lighter than those of Valor, but pale-skinned as they were. Donned in a side-buttoned coat, he existed with a certain air about him. A rather detached characteristic. Invisible. Silent.
Seldom did he make any motion; recursively, he did, however, drift eyes across the table. Watching, and likely cataloging. She emptied the last of the drink into his cup, sauntered backward to a lone chair rooted by the side of a statue. Away from the desk. As was expected.
What she was, now, was highHeir, vaguely allowed presence in the king's room but hardly accepted onto the table. That was the way of things, one she acknowledged without question. After all, here she sat down, observing the collective rulers of Eastos. Their delegates at least. Much could be learned from their actions. And after Argon, those words he spoke...
Perhaps I have a lot to learn.
Then there was the matter of impression formation. These men and women had seen her in the Great Hall. Her Prowess had been shown to their very eyes. No longer would the rumors of weakness be spread. Instead, a different one would now be born. About Kabal. About her order.
Many eyes had observed the moment of her casting. Numerous 'Powerful' observers, any one of them could have deciphered the deceit produced by her. And in accordance, any one of them could be the whistle to her fate!
Was this how darkCrowns felt about the brightCrowns? Beings who could decide their ends in moments.
Argon said something, the delegate from vileStorm, obviously sardonic to the request. What was it? Ivory found the needed attention bereft from her mind. Not by the casted means, but by the internal ones.
She had a multitude of problems.
From the 'act' done with Kabal, to the secret revealed to Argon. Either of those was chaotic, and perhaps the former was one of impulsive reasons, not fitted into that of accurate cogitation. Perhaps that was true. But in the end, it had been done.
The Emerelt, on the other hand...That could break the unity between Argon and Samara. That could be the hole by which the church crawled into Valor. Ultimately, it remained unknown where Mother had obtained the glove. By the church, no doubt, but how?
Surely, she was not a stupid creature influenced by the theocracy. No, not mother. I need to approach this as a deadEye.
She went inwards.
Currently, to Argon, two holes existed in Valor: There was Kabal, the Aspirant who had attempted harm on the highHeir. He, too, could be attributed to the presence of the Fermen. By the hands of the church or not, any logical simulation would conclude in that result.
The second was the Emerelt, which echoed the possibility of a longer influence present within the confines of cintry. What if? In exchange for the Glove, Mother had given something to the Theocracy?
Questions within questions. More annoying was the lack of answers to them.
What about my problem?
There was the safety of Kabel. Now more than ever, she felt the need for that. Like a burning in the chest, a warmth that compelled disastrous desires within her. Call it a monomania, but...that was the sole want.
That and the safety of her future as highHeir!
Should I talk to Mother before Father does?