A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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Gris wanted to see Mageia. He could only imagine how terrified and upset she was right now. Though he hated it, he had sent multiple requests to his father, seeking an audience with him, only to be denied. Traveling to the Taefo would be tedious with the growing crowds preparing for the night's parade, and time was of the essence.
To his surprise, he and Lord Hercones stole an opportunity to speak with the Priesthood about his theory. And though it raised questions, doubts, even disagreements, the only solution was to do a third Sanction Ritual once they arrived at the Diviine Temple. And if the Diviines still favored the king's decision, they had to proceed to the Choosing Ritual to see who Mageia would replace in the Sacred Seven.
Of the many years he'd witnessed the Annual Fair Ceremony, never had Gris been this anxious and fearful. He didn't know Mageia personally, but after doing vigorous study and research, he knew it was a terrible idea to kill her.
He checked his timepiece for the hundredth time this evening. Time flew faster than a freed bird. The gathering for the royal parade would start at the seventh mark, and it was already around the sixth mark, and things still needed to be done. The slaves knew what they were supposed to do, yet things changed, things needed to be addressed, and orders made. The Annual Fair Ceremony seemed like a great festival to attend, but the work behind it was murderous, especially when he acted as Master of the House for Rasheem.
His body had begun to sweat in odd places. His feet screamed and his head throbbed. Lord Hercones' worrisome mention of sudden judgment on Ardania didn't help his anxiety nor his desperate need to check on Rasheem. Anxiety nagged him worse than ever in his entire life.
He watched and counted and recounted the last pile of crates filled with food, tableware, toiletries, decorations, weaponry, and other items that were getting carried out of the kitchen's main back door to the waiting carriages. Frustration made his stiff tongue feel dry and tough as wool, tempting him to explode in a rampaging scream. He gripped his overcrowded clipboard until his fingers began to burn. Then a hand tapped his left shoulder, sending a bolt of anger up his spine. "What?" He yelled, spinning to face the person.
Instantly, he regretted it. "Mira," he uttered, staring wide-eyed at the 38-year-old woman. Her short-cropped hair was a mess on her head, like she'd been shaken senseless. She signed apologies with her hands.
"No. Don't be sorry. What do you want?"
Something's wrong with Hasana.
"Hasana?" He realized he hadn't seen the girl since Eron dragged her away. "Is she okay?"
The maid, who must've abandoned her duties in the South Wing to find him, shook her head with worry. I caught her crying. She said she was okay, but I know she is lying.
"Gaw!" He knew that reliq, an evil spirit from the Hall of Death, must've done something to her. "Where is she?"
In the hallway. I made her come, but she's afraid.
