Fall of Angels

XLVIII

WITH A NOD to the guard in the corridor, the Lord of Lornth closes the tower door and crosses the room to the alcove where the lady Ellindyja sits.

“Good day, my lady mother.”

“Good day, Sillek. You are kind to continue to visit me.”

“Since I have a consort? You will always remain my mother, and a woman from whom I have learned much.” As the wind whistles, he turns and eases back toward the window. “The wind is stronger than usual, this time of year.”

“It may be a cold winter. It’s not been this cold in several years.” Ellindyja’s eyes drop to the embroidery hoop. “I hope it will not be too chill for your consort.”

“Zeldyan? Carpa is almost as close to the Westhorns as Lornth, and farther north. I’m sure she’s used to winter, Her father did teach her to hunt and basic blade skills.”

“She is rather accomplished.” Ellindyja pauses, but Sillek’s eyes drift back to the window. She clears her throat. “Sillek, your Zeldyan has been such a dear … so solicitous and so faithful in paying her respects to me.”

Sillek turns from the fitful flakes of snow that dance outside the tower window and crosses the room, dropping into the chair across from his mother. “She knows that you are very wise. She’s told me so.”

“She loves you, Sillek. That is very dangerous.” Ellindyja lifts the embroidery needle like a scepter and points it toward her son.

“Dangerous?”

“She cares so deeply that she may counsel you against what is best for Lornth out of her fears for you.” Ellindyja deftly secures the end of the thread, then begins the first stitch of the sword blade that will be golden.

“I am sure that there are many who will seek to counsel me otherwise,” Sillek responds. “It might be refreshing to have someone actually interested in my health. Not necessarily good for Lornth, but refreshing.”

“What would be good for Lornth will be good for you, Sillek.”

“I would hope so.” The Lord of Lornth stands. “I would hope so.” His eyes turn back to the window. “Perhaps a long, cold winter will rid us of the evil angels on the Roof of the World.”

“Do you believe that?” The embroidery needle flickers through the linen, trailing gold.

“Evil isn’t usually dislodged by weather. Still … one can hope, and, since spring comes late to the heights, that will give us time to increase our resources before dealing with that problem.”

“I am pleased to see you have not put that loss from your mind.”

“Neither from my mind, nor from my plans, Mother dear. But I have no desire to leave my back unshielded while venturing into the Westhorns.” Sillek studies the dancing flakes beyond the window. “Yes … a long, cold winter might be helpful for many reasons.” He walks toward the door.

“I am pleased that you are doing well, that you have chosen not to be cloistered, and that Zeldyan pleases you.” He smiles as he holds the door ajar. “And I am also pleased that I took your advice and journeyed to Carpa.” With a last smile, he half salutes Lady Ellindyja and closes the door.

The north wind rattles the tower window, and the snowflakes dance.