SERVANTS OF THE CROWN

crown four; storm brought warnings

When Lysandra was a child, she often heard the cries of children haunted by nightmares or the rambles of Elias as he enthused again and again of his dreams where he was a valiant knight with abilities of a god.

Dreams... Lysandra never had that benefit. But if she had nightmares, the personification of it is most likely the one depicted on the parchment in front of her.

Men, she thought, thinking back to her uncle, the only pupils he took -- the sons of the Estriach Clan. My tutelage is only the luxury of men, women are too emotional, act too much in the heat of the moment. But the spirit of the Estriach children do not discriminate, the common tactic for troubles was to hit it until it went away.

Oh, Ciairos, she thought bitterly, never could keep your mouth shut, could you? Not when you finally had an advantage over them.

She returns her gaze to the parchment. Her teeth grits before she rises from her chair abruptly, jade green eyes flashing in the darkening light.

Say what you will, she thinks. But I—

Have no intentions of playing double joker for anyone.

♛♛♛

"Have you seen Haki as of late?" she asks Rotavel.

"No," he says, "but she will be arriving in the coming month with a messenger from your clan."

"I want to see her."

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow. "What with the sudden interest?"

She takes a sip of her tea. "What's it to you? You never took much interest in my affairs."

He shrugs elegantly. "I just don't think it's a good idea, with everything happening so close. Besides, if Haki was invited to the Holy Cities before the monarch, it's bound to shine a beacon of suspicion towards your grandmother and the cities."

"Haki is a scholar," she says. "She'll be more interested in the scrolls we bear here than the politics." Lysandra smiles. "She just needs a little prompt. And we'll give it to her."

"Only you, Lysandra," he laughs. "Only you. I'll see what I can do, then." He rises to leave before stilling for a moment. "What do you plan go do about the Clarines delegation?"

"Ciarios has taken to managing his affairs in the capital. Knowing him, he'll likely refuse to say a single word. But his intentions are fair, and I'll ask him to keep an eye on Wezstanza during the Summer Solstice."

Rotavel, seemingly having abandoned all intentions of leaving drops back down into his seat, reclaims his wine glass before taking a sip. "Wezstanza..." He glances at her, amber eyes glinting beneath lashes color of molten gold. "Do you trust him there?" Lysandra opens her mouth protest.

He silences her with a look. "We both know who he is. We both know who he could become."

She purses her lips. "It's a gamble, I agree." Lysandra smiles. "But was I not a gamble as well?"

Rotavel laughs. Sharp and mocking. "The two of you are not the same, do remember that, Lysandra darling." With that, he rises and leaves her there with her eyebrows raised.

"Say that as you will," she replies to her shadow. "But we both know that the fire all those years before was not merely for Izana or Clarines' sake alone."

Too different — one the darkness that hungers for stars and the other the corona of the sun that lights even the moon. They are too different, even if she is the person Izana has built up in his dreams, even if Izana wasn't the saint Lysandra had followed after. One too sharp and the other too blunt. Unlike him, who seeks out the darkness to bring the light, Lysandra immerses herself in the darkness and whose blade is swift, painful and without remorse.