“ How is he?” 

In the deepening night, the ship turned southwards to the empire. The harbors of the northern lands swept past them and below the gliding sails the rivers and forests  slept amidst deep mist. 

The embers of a lamp flickered within the grand suite, flaming against the reaching shadows. The adjutant stood by the door keeping watch, and the crown prince sat perched upon a long table, flipping languidly through the pages of a book. The anthology of Nimyi he had been reading since his return to the garrisons.

“ Should I call for the head aide your highness?” 

Lucen’s gaze lowered in focus, and Lyall stepped forth, setting the opal stone aflame. It’s light fell upon the book’s crimson cover. Perhaps a trick of the light, but it seemed to him much like a splatter of blood.

“ Yes” Lucen exhaled. Closing the book and placing his hands upon the stained cover, “ Please do”

The adjutant took his leave, donning once more the dark robe of the messenger. The cabin fell to silence. The ship whirred then to the east, traversing further into the cold murky night.

Lucen  picked up the book, smelling the fading essence of chamomile and winter upon its pages. He had agreed to wait a fortnight, but an ill fate had diverted his path. Even so he had little plans to tarry in Drugar. First he must meet the wraith of his parents, the empresses and secondly that of his betrothed. Then he shall leave for Ahsara for a last time to visit the perfumery. 

To secure the little reason left on this world for his living. 

The steps of the aide and the adjutant fell muted on the rained wood. The doors opened to a thick mist that flowed in like a river. Lyall set forth a new lamp on the desk, setting it aflame. 

Under its hissing fire, the head aide fell to her knees, “ Your highness!”

Lucen set down the book again, slipping it behind his silhouette. 

“ Lady Onya, how is the prince consort?”

Onya gathered her hands and smoothed the pleats of her dress, “ Your highness, the prince just retired for the night”

Lucen nodded, and cleared the regret clawing at his throat. He had dragged yet another to his doom. They must wonder what misfortune had befallen them. Yet he hoped, they would hold on for just a little longer. For he did not wish to espouse the unwilling, and when the threat of Neven,  Nevernya falls, they too shall be rid of this awry fate. 

Onya pinched her brows in worry.

“ What is it?” Lyall  swung his arm, “ Speak what you must” 

“ That is. . . “  Her head drooped, until it seemed to cave within her body, “ The prince consort seems incapable of speech and hearing your highness”


“ Oh” Lucen and Lyall shared an uncertain glance. Such lengths the fools of Ahsara had gone to veil the state of affairs. Or was this one more wretched ritual of theirs? 

“ I’m afraid none here is skilled in sign speak” He sighed in worry, “ Be kind to him and if there be any wounds upon the prince let Lyall know”

Onya froze and nodded slowly, “ That is. . . will your highness be joining the prince at dawn?”

Lucen shook his head, With a heaviness upon his brows his gaze turned to the northward windows, “ I will not” 

The rain abated and carried away with it the white mist. Lyall led Onya away and bid farewell by the passageway,. When he returned, the crown prince had withdrawn, leaving only the brightly burning lamps in his wake. 

“ You too Lyall go and rest” His voice bellowed through the cabin. “ there is no need to keep me company”

Lyall followed the ebbing, fading shadows to the sleeping chambers and stood beside its door.

“ Shall I prepare for some chamomile tea your highness?”

A smile splayed upon Lucen’s lips and for a moment his eyes swept the vacant chamber.  A pale hand extended through memory, placing in his hands a cup of blue tea. He turned away wordlessly and collapsed  upon a chair and brought forth the book of Nimyi from his robes, holding it’s opened pages tenderly atop his chest. 

The night was cold and he was parched of sleep, yet his eyes did not close. He stared at the golden rimmed pages, mouthing clumsily some words he had learned. 

It was only in the darkness of the night that Lucen felt him, and perhaps it was apt punishment. He tenderly held fate’s wraith in his arms.

A series of knocks hit the door before Lyall entered, carrying a single white porcelain cup. He placed it beside the chair, uncovering it’s rim, bathing the chamber in its wintery scent. He looked at it in doubt, brewed with so much essence that its hue turned red. And the prince never drank it, yet always requested a cup to sit beside him at the end of the night. He bowed and retreated, fastening the door behind him. 

Lucen closed his eyes at last. And finally his heart felt at peace and it flew through the fog of passing lands into a border wrought white with snow and lay resting upon a myrtle tree. 

________________

The night passed slowly before him, and when Asael awoke it was to the sound of persistent knocking. 

“  I’m here” He mumbled, shooting up in place, “ I’m here” 

Pale sunlight streamed through the room, opalescent and tender. And through the closed windows, radiated a mild chill as if rain had frosted over its sill. And he felt about the room  a weary lightness. 

He was sat upon a bed, with satin beneath and around. He breathed in relief. For no flowers grew upon his feet and no forest loomed overhead. What had happened in the night? Who was it that had pulled him to the past? As if it breathed and came about him alive?  

The memories of yesterday pieced together in his mind. And it seemed to him that he was awoken from a terrible nightmare, only to realize that his waking moments were no less grim. He tried to move, only to find his limbs and bones weak and numb. He swept the satin sheets away and stretched his feet, there was dull aching in his legs and arms, and the pain of his twisted shoulder, where his head rested, had grown worse through night. He dragged his body to the night table and  picked up the opal stone from the lamp, holding its dissipating warmth against his shoulder. 

The soft knocking upon the door grew persistent. He sighed, As one pain subsided another arose. He wrapped his cold hands over his eyes and found them searingly warm. It seemed that he had gotten a fever as well. It was no wonder. With no medicine nor proper care, he knew his body would grow fail, yet he had not come to expect its withering so soon. 

Feeling slightly cold, he fastened the robes around his body and walked to the door, opening it’s latch. 

The head aid and her two helpers greeted him with deep bows.

“ Has your highness slept well?” Onya asked with a bright smile, and with no word from Asael her face fell to gloom.

She looked behind and gestured the two helpers forward. One carried in their arms an assortment of sweets and the other a cup of tea, and set it beside his bed. 

Asael drank the tea slowly and got up even slower. When he finally emerged from the sleeping chambers after some time, a grand affair had taken place in the dressing chamber.  With it’s windows drawn and mirrors pulled, and robes and veils of shimmering yellow laid across it’s middle. 

As the morning passed Asael bathed once more and was dressed by the aides. The Drugan robes  fell softer on the skin than the robes of Ahsara and flowed gently against the breeze. Yet Onya saw his wrapped shoulders and chest and looked quite disappointed. Asael smiled apologetically, praying that he be left unquestioned.  The two helpers brought forth a long veil and clipped it behind his neck, weaving it through his arms fastening it, then they slipped its rings over his fingers, hiding the wound dressing. Asael saw little of himself in reflection, yet made no complaint.  

“ Your highness” Onya approached him. She set on a small table, a pen and paper and began to write. 

Asael stared for a moment and took the book in his hands, tracing his fingers along the curving letters. So this was Drugan, It’s beauty did not fade though it belonged to the enemy. Yet unfortunately he understood nothing. He took the offered pen and twirled it, pressing it lightly against the paper.

He remembered little of Ahsaran stroke, and since leaving the perfumery he had fallen from practice. He set the pen aside with a discontented expression.

Onya opened the book with hope and found no word of response. She shut the book and shoved it into her dress pocket. 

“ We are arriving in Drugar soon” She whipped her arms towards the door, flinching in hesitation before dropping. She gathered the swopping trail of Asael’s robes and walked him to the windows.

Thinking little of the aide’s demeanor Asael perched upon the window sill. He then brought forth the heavy crimson brooch the Ahsaran priestess has given to him, and held it against light. A small fire sparked within it, forming into a golden bird, he had not seen wrong. As beams of the morning sun fell through the windows, the bird fluttered through the stone in a strange pattern. Perhaps in the shape of a letter or word but Asael did not know what it was.

He placed it back within his robes and found the aid standing beside him, with a strange expression. She smiled and fell to her feet in a bow. Speaking some words lightly. And Asael too smiled and turned back towards the window. 

The world beneath the ship grew light and curious. With fields of flaxen stretching over the horizon and vast lakes seeping to rivers that shimmered golden under the yellow sun. It was a world unlike Araya and he felt for a moment that he had flown to the sun and was traversing it’s golden terrain.

It was beautiful, this much grace he allowed it. For it’s beauty reminded him of home and the soft touch of snow and the shattering storms of Isryx. And he wished it was home that lay neath him instead. Asael wiped away a tear and lowered his gaze at a flock of white birds below. Rising and falling like a gathering cloud. 

He could not see a palaces or cities yet, but knew well that their destination lingered close. He close his eyes, reaching across the southern land with his spirit. And for a moment he felt a trembling flame. He sat up at once. He had surely felt it, the cry of the wisp,  there still remained some hope!

He closed his eyes again, and swept neath the wind and upon the forests and rivers. The faint call travelled its terrain and drew away to some distant place he could not see.

Asael felt a great sorrow. Tears poured relentlessly from his eyes. His pursuit had not been in vain. If only for the wisp he will survive. Its call had been faint and fleeting, yet this much was hope enough. He will find it. Even if he were to breath his last in an enemy land, he will save his wisp.