Daughter of Azeroth

12 | A PRIESTESS

Grey light had just begun to line the edges of the bedroom curtains when Myra's door opened. Idira sat up, afraid it might be VanCleef coming to pester her sister again, but it was only Lanira. In the half-light, her minder looked tired. Lanira glanced at the bed and held out her hand.

'I thought you might be in here,' she said. 'Come, let's get you dressed.'

Idira left the warm cocoon of blankets and took her minder's hand but hung back, her gaze fixed on her sister.

'Come, child,' Lanira said, although she lacked her usual ferocity, 'I don't have the energy for your antics today.'

Idira pointed at the huddled shape on the bed. 'Myra didn' move all night. I think somethin's wrong with her.'

Alarmed, Lanira let go of Idira and hurried to the bed. She turned Myra from her side onto her back and looked her over. 'How long has she been like this?' she demanded, sharp.

'Since I came here.'

'How long?' Lanira repeated, impatient.

Idira shrugged. 'Maybe two hours?'

Lanira pressed her fingers to Myra's neck. A long time passed. Lanira's breathing turned shallow.

'They're too far apart,' she murmured, frantic. She strode back across the room and grasped Idira's hand, yanking her, rough, out of the bedroom. Her hands shaking, Lanira pulled the door closed, her eyes darting up and down the hall, nervous. Idira looked around to see who Lanira was looking for, but the hall lay deserted. Her minder took a deep breath, calming herself.

'Go to your room,' she said, giving Idira a little push. 'And stay there!' she bossed over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Idira dawdled after Lanira, waiting until her minder disappeared down the staircase. On the first-floor landing overlooking the entrance hall with its black and white chequered floor, Idira dallied as she walked towards the stairs on the opposite side, occupying herself with trailing her fingers along the banister's carved wooden railings. Lanira reappeared from the back of the house, throwing a cloak over her shoulders, followed by two menservants. With a flourish of her gown, she swept out the front door.

Idira decided to wait. She could always run upstairs when Lanira came back. Her minder would never know. Idira sat down and pushed her legs through the railings, revelling in the feeling of her feet dangling in the air. She kicked her legs as the household staff hurried from one part of the house to another—the women dressed in smart black dresses and crisp white aprons, the men in black breeches, white shirts, and half aprons. They looked very elegant in their clothes, far too well-dressed to be scrubbing the floor. Yet there they were, a man and woman working together in silence, their movements across the marbled surface precise and rhythmic. It was like watching a dance. Idira began to feel a little sleepy. She leaned her head against the railings and closed her eyes.

She woke with a start. The hall lay deserted. Voices drifted from the back of the house. Someone laughed. A maid came into view carrying a glass vase containing a large arrangement of flowers. She set it onto the round table in the middle of the entrance hall, turning the vase this way and that until she was satisfied. Idira stood up, thinking about going back to Myra's room, to see if she had missed anything.

'And so we meet again, little one.'

Idira turned around. VanCleef stood in front of her, a small smile on his lips. He wore a pair of dark leather breeches, matching boots, a fitted white shirt, and a long black jacket, the edges of its lapels embroidered with golden thread. He pushed the sides of his jacket back and rested his hands on the grips of two daggers, one on each hip.