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His eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He then stood suddenly and paced toward the door on the far side of the room. “That actually reminds me, I was supposed to inform the council when you woke. I’ll tell someone to bring you up some dinner while I’m out. Just sit tight, okay?”
“I’m half naked, Lor. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” I replied, lifting the covers to survey the thin night gown I was wearing. Who the hell dressed me in this?
He paused in the doorway, noticing my reaction to the paper-thin gown. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t me.” The door shut quietly behind him, leaving me alone in comforting solitude.
He returned sometime later, preceded by a rash knock across my door, opening it before I had the chance to invite him inside. I lifted my head slightly off the pillow to gain witness to my company. Loren stood in the doorway, something black draped over his arm.
“The council wants to see you immediately. Turns out, we do have an update, but they want you there before they release it.” He tossed the heavy fabric on my bed, a robe to cover the worst excuse for a night gown I’ve ever seen.
I quickly, yet carefully, uncovered my bruised body and stood from the bed. My legs trembled slightly at the weight placed upon them, weak from days of resting and starving. Not to mention the hell I’d put my body through from the run and the fight. But I was fortunate to even have my legs at all, to feel the ache of their muscles as I walked across the room and joined my friend.
The hall was exposed to the outside. We stood on a breezeway leading to small apartments overlooking the edge of the castle. The polished floor was slick with dew, sending a chill to meet me the moment I stepped my bare feet across the pavers. I pulled the wool robe tighter across my chest, wrapping myself in its oversized comfort.
“Did they give any hint about the news? Did something happen?” I asked as we walked. Loren’s pace was brisk, even with the crutch. It was obvious he was in a hurry to get us both back to the council.
“Nothing specific, only they needed you to be there,” he replied in a grim voice. Pleasant surprise bloomed in my chest despite his dark mood. Last time I saw them, they were completely dismissive of me, like I was merely a gnat in their ear. I guess all I had to do was fetch a few stones to make them take me seriously around here.
He escorted me up several flights of stairs, ones we took slowly due to his struggle with inclined surfaces. I offered my arm, but he swatted it aside, too proud and determined to learn the way himself. I admired his tenacity, never showing his frustration at relearning such a simple skill.
“Where are we to meet them?” I asked, pretending to be interested in the gothic architecture as I waited for him to catch up.
“The War Room. Which just so happens to be in the highest damn tower, overlooking the world. It’s impressive, I admit, but very inconvenient when you only have one leg.” He panted between every few words, not hiding his struggle to climb the last few steps of the final staircase. When he reached the top, he leaned against the archway leading to a pair of massive doors. I studied their design as he caught his breath beside me, noticing the carvings in the light stain told the story of the queen’s war—the Battle of the Fall.
Watchers flew across the wooden tapestry, their wings stretched and filling the expanse of the upper part of the door. Some dove to the earth with their swords, some wrestled monsters in the sky, others blew horns signaling a message only guessed at. At the base was humanity, one door revealing the side who fought with the winged men, the other was a hellacious version of my people. Monsters in mortal forms fighting against their neighbors for a demon with milky skin and raven hair. I winced at the crudeness of their faces, carved in such a way that revealed the darkness in their hearts.
Loren cleared his throat next to me, motioning toward the door and indicating my admittance. I stepped across the short passageway leading to the entrance. The walls were entirely made of glass, appearing as if I was walking through the night sky itself as the stars surrounded me on each side. I was about the grab the golden handle of the door until I remembered something important.
My hand knocked against wood three times, letting the hollow sound resonate on the other side. A muffled voice called me inside.
“Arya!” The voice of the grandmaster greeted me as soon as I stepped inside the War Room. “It’s so good to see you up and about. You had us worried for a time.”
My gaze surveyed the room before I responded. The grandness stole my attention and snatched the words from my throat. The vaulted ceilings arched between tall, marble pillars lining the room, and each arch had a matching stained glass window in the wall behind it.
More stories of the past were colored in the glass, painting a world still mastered by the sun. I imagined how beautiful the windows would be with sunlight pouring through, since even the moonlight sent a hundred shades flickering across the marble floor. With every step I took further into the room, the faces seemed to move in their placement in history. It was a never-ending story as I paced down the shallow steps to the lower floor, always changing, never the same picture twice.
“Just trying to keep you on your talons, Grandmaster,” I replied cynically. But he didn’t have Azriel’s sense of humor, apparent by the sharp look of perplexity he wore. The leader of the watchers stood at the head of a circular table strewn with maps and documents. On top of them, however, was a lonely box. It’s rough handiwork, clearly out of place among the elaborate decorum of the room. Loren followed behind me before ultimately retreating to a shadowed corner. His presence was allowed, but he was clearly not invited. He could listen but not join the conversation. The watchers seemed like an exclusive club I had no business being a part of.
“Right,” he continued. “Would you like to sit, Chosen?”
“That’s not my title anymore, Grandmaster, and yes, I would.” I found the only empty chair he motioned to between two watchers at one edge of the round table. The box sat directly in front of me, tempting me with its mysterious possibilities.
“Huntress, then?” he asked curiously. In the corner of my eye, he paced around the table, coming up behind my seat. I didn’t turn my head to look at him as he approached, keeping my eyes steady on the black box with silver hinges.
“How about just Arya?”
“Arya it is.”
I nodded, eager to speed this conversation along, but these ancient creatures had the patience of saints. His black wings dragged with a hiss across the floor as he positioned himself over my shoulder. His golden eyes burrowed into the back of my head, as did the other eleven pairs currently sitting around the table.
He continued then, sensing my agitation. “First, I want to congratulate you on a job well done. I have to admit, we were all a little…wary of sending you off without a record of the map. But Azriel insisted in his confidence in your ability, and we took his vouch for you seriously. It’s unfortunate to hear of his fate.” His voice lowered the last part in a painful whisper. A tension swept through the room like a cold breeze.
“Very unfortunate,” I replied tersely.
“You cared for him.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact. My gaze faltered from the box and to the hands in my lap.
“My feelings are irrelevant now, sir.”
“Love is never irrelevant, Arya.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, and I jumped slightly at the unsolicited touch. The rest of them watched me carefully, the weight of their attention made my confidence quake.
