"I came as called. I slept when not needed." And toward the end, that was often and longer, as Aroesus came to distrust his own brothers. Others had turned on him, so why not Sileon, the most like Ventu? And, he'd reasoned, Sileon turned on Ventu once as well. "I was told Lyrikes seduced Aroesus; they used some ritual to kill them both in their joining?"

The coeterie of Lyrikies, those left in the throne room, apparently were not acquainted with the directness of Aroesus' brother, and to say it as such to Mysia. Everyone was circumspect here, and that was perhaps why they were eternal inhabitants of Krona while Sileon was the occasional visitor -- he laid it bare without batting an eyelash. That, of course, was one of the reasons Aroesus sent for Sileon less and less, leaving the Dancer to slumber in his volcano for the centuries -- Sileon always asked questions. He didn't even seem to worry much about whether the questions might offend or if the answers were not comfortable. Fire, after all, was not subtle, nor was Sileon. Water wore down, wind eroded, earth moved slowly, but fire was sudden and flaring, it came directly and it consumed ferociously. The direct phrasing was a product of that -- there was no working up to delicate subjects with the youngest brother of Aroesus.

"It doesn't really matter though," again the candor, "Aroesus is dead. Who comes next to the throne?" And that, of course, was what everyone in Krona was wondering. In a sense, those that didn't know Sileon very well -- try everyone in the palace -- seemed to think that he was coming to claim the throne, though he only looked at it sideways, glancing without really seeing it. Others glanced at that throne in longing, but Sileon seemed to peer right past it. It was apparent -- the Herald was not a sophisticated being. He wasn't asking that question rhetorically.

He didn't know the answer.