Yovar studied the tapestries hung on the walls in the large chamber as he nervously weighed on his feet. They depicted tall stern men wielding terrifying powers; raining down lightning, calling flames, raising the earth… He didn’t know if they were real or not, but whatever the case they served their purpose of reminding everyone that the man holding court behind the large gilded walls was the most powerful sorcerer Alcea had seen in centuries. Perhaps, the most powerful in the world.

Just as Yovar was studying the only hanging in the room with a woman as the main figure, the doors to the throne room opened and a knight in the black of Janolf waved for Yovar to approach.

“His Majesty is ready to see you now,” he said, stepping aside to let Yovar enter. 

To Yovar’s surprise, the enormous room was almost empty. Lord Janolf himself was there, of course, and next to him was Aron, his second in command. And then there was a… being. It could have passed for a human, wrapped completely in black cloth fluttering from some unfelt wind, if it wasn’t for the strange air of cold and malevolence reeking from it. Whatever it was, it was constantly at Janolf’s side.

As soon as he was through the door, Yovar went down on his knees. 

“Master Yovar,” Janolf spoke.

“Majesty.”

“You have news for me?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Approach, then.”

Yovar rose, keeping his head bowed as he walked closer to the throne. When he reached in, he kneeled again.

“Tell me of your news,” Janolf ordered.

“The Resistance is spreading, Majesty. My informers report activity in more and more areas and people disappear from almost every village to join them. But you have loyalists in the country, as well, and they’re becoming more and more willing to report on their neighbors’ activities. And…”

“Yes? What?”

“There has been talk in the border towns. A man from the Resistance, travelling speedily. For Ilvance.”

----

Elya sent the maid away with a hand wave, studying her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was done up in braids, arranged in circles around her head. She had changed into a very dark grey dress made from fine silk and intricately embroidered with black thread: a reminder of the reason for her exile. 

Deciding she looked presentable, Elya stood and left her dressing room. In the chamber outside Sir Stefan was waiting for her, his wrinkled face set in a concerned frown. He was as unsettled as Elya by the arrival of this messenger.

“Who is with my son?” she asked him, smoothing her sleeves.

“Khani, from the Emperor’s Guard. And that dog.”

“Good. He is to be kept out of sight for now.”

“As you wish,” Sir Stefan agreed, giving a hint of a bow. “The emperor has offered to let you use the throne room to receive the man.”

Elya considered for a moment, before she shook her head. “No. I will see him here.” 

Sir Stefan only inclined his head in reply, waiting for Elya to select a seat. There weren’t very many to chose from; the reception chamber Elya had been given by the emperor was far from small but neither was it meant for large gatherings. One side of the room was almost completely open to the walled-in garden by several arches that at the moment were covered by light curtains. 

At the far end from the entrance, facing the door, there was an almost throne-like chair carved from some dark wood, slightly elevated on a small platform. There were chairs set along the other two walls, but most of the floor was bare, showing off the intricate stone work and giving Elya a good position to act the queen from. 

She nodded to Sir Stefan. 

“Tell them to show him in,” she said, schooling her features into cool inapproachability as she took her seat.