Q ᴜ ᴇ ᴇ ɴ
U N E - E N V I E
T A G |
Xobos Yakieer
L O C A T I O N | Azurine City, Illyria
W E A R I N G | {x}
Illyria, not for the first time, had been drowned in darkness. Heavy black clouds had been rolling across the sky for the better part of an hour. They dragged with them a storm that had originated in the mountains but had now begun to douse the entire city in sharp, cold, grey sleet. Fat droplets of rain splashed noisily against the thick windowpane. The pebble dash sounds it made against the dull colours would have, in the right circumstances, been soothing. But these were far from the right circumstances. Saraya watched as a particularly rotund drop trickled over the stained-glass portrait for her husband. The harsh, jagged lines did him no justice, but since his departure, the lifeless images were the only thing Saraya had to cling to. The only tangible thing the King of Illyria had left behind for his wife-to-be to pine over.
A deep sigh left her throat as she tugged a silk shawl tighter around her shoulders, but the rumble of distant thunder drowned it out completely. “Jean?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it need not have been louder.
The moment the name had rolled from her lips, it had summoned the man who belonged to it. In truth, it would have been an insult to describe him as a man. Jean was far more graceful and far more elegant than that. He often reminded Saraya of the crystal vulptex. Shimmering, silver, and always carrying an air of mystery that was not so easily dismissed. After a short bow, he flashed the young Queen consort a warm smile of greeting. “Good morning, my Lady.” Saraya smiled back, but it was brief and riddled with something heavy. Something that dragged the expression down until it could barely be considered a smile.
“Good?” She responded with a thick layer of sarcasm coating her tone. Pausing briefly, she threw her emerald gaze toward the window. The wind had begun to pick up and was now throwing rain violently against the glass, making it sound as though they were stood in the percussion section of a particularly vivacious orchestra.
Jean, ever the people pleaser, blessed Saraya with a half-hearted chuckle. “The weather certainly does seem to reflect the mood of Illyria.” He commented, in a wise, deep tone that reminded Saraya of an owl. She did not reply to this. Or at least, not immediately. Instead, she leaned her head against the window frame, where she could feel the cool air seeping through the gaps. It was Jean who first broke the silence. “May I be of any assistance, my Lady Arenais?” Saraya lifted her head to shoot him another smile. “Always.” Assistance was a rather small word to describe what Saraya needed. What she needed was a thousand times the weight of assistance. “He makes it look so easily…” The passive comment, without context, would have confused anyone else, but not Jean. He nodded and, though Saraya knew he had not meant to, a look that was a mixture of pity and sympathy crossed his angled features.
The sound of velvet against stone echoed through her rooms as Saraya finally turned to face the steward properly. “I require the presence of Lady Yakieer.” As though the words had given her access to some hidden strength, Saraya placed her feet on solid ground. “As quick as humanly possible. Preferably by tonight, if not sooner.” It far from a wild request to make, especially not to Jean. He was the type of man who seemed to be able to accomplish anything, even if it seemed almost impossible. Saraya suspected it was one of the many reasons her fiancé had enlisted him into his service.
As she had expected, Jean nodded and once again bowed his mid-riff toward the Queen consort. “As you wish, my Lady.” His words were followed by the sound of the door to her chambers clicking closed. Once more, Saraya was left alone. To the sound of her hand whipping through the air, the emerald in her eyes flickered briefly. From their usual deep shade of sparkling green to a shockingly beautiful lavender hue. The wood piled neatly in the center of a marble fireplace burst suddenly into flames, flooding the room with a heat that combated the ice-cold chill beating aggressively against the window. Hopefully, she would be waiting no longer than the time it took to travel from Garde Noire to Azurine City. Settling down on a plush sofa in front of the already roaring fire, Saraya cast her gaze to the flames. To the entrancing patterns the orange tongues made as they danced against the polished marble and cast flickering shadows across the floor. They were erratic. Impossible to predict. One misplaced step away from lashing out and burning everything around it. All it needed was a little control to keep it reigned in, safely behind the grate.
That was all Saraya needed, she reminded herself. Just a little control. To keep her mind safely in the realm of sanity.