"You wished to see me, grandfather?" Estazar whispered. Just earlier, she had been pacing outside those great woven flaps that separated the diadem room from the main hall, for how long she could not say. The sun stood at its greatest height when she had entered the palace. It was now rapidly approaching night. Would she be in trouble with grandfather? Would he be displeased at her lateness? Does he even recall her meeting with him? She stopped, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut, in a near perfect emulation of one of the statues in the main hall. It was of the death of Vedad "the Arm of Wise Fire", who brought the Garmardom and Giyamardom under the sway of the shahdom. The statue depicted him kneeling, clutching at a spear rammed through his chest by the last Chief Bizamid "the Infidel" of the Garmardom, when Vedad and his band of converts were ambushed in the mountains. The way Estazar felt, she might as well have been pierced as thoroughly as he. The longer she waited, the more her grandfather would be angry with her, but the sooner she approached, the sooner his wrath came. Enough! She pulled the flaps aside, and called to him.

Her voice carried across the silent room, bouncing off the marble and sandstone, refracting her one voice into hundreds. The room was dark, with the blinds pulled down over the glass such that only minuscule amounts of the evening sun may enter. At the end of the room sat the diadem of Shah Demes, perched on its place so far above her. The blinds, by design, would not stop the sun from shining upon the diadem, and each of the five jewels embedded within it were alight, as if the gods were peering through them at her from the other side. To its immediate left, sat in a humble stone chair with an arm propping up his face, was her old grandfather, who in his sleeping form, looked as if dead. Perhaps he had not even heard her at all, and she could sneak off before he awoke.

"Don't bother thinking about it," boomed Shah Koudad's voice, more emanating from his still form than speaking. Estazar yelped in fright, and nearly jumped straight back into the hall. Koudad's eyes snapped open, to reveal the brilliance beneath. Harsh green eyes, rarely found in the entirety of the empire, stared deep into her brown ones. He looked less a shah and more an evil magus from the stories, here to place a curse upon her forever and ever. "I'm not stupid. I've seen the same look in the faces of my goat-brained satraps, when they come to bear ill news. Is that how you intended to carry yourself to me?"

"Not at all, grandfather," Estazar replied, breaking her gaze away to focus on the ground before him. "I . . . I've come to answer your summons, like you said. Please don't punish me, I tried my best to be here on time."

"Pull up that blind there," Koudad said, pointing. Estazar did so, letting Wise Air's sunlight wash through the chamber. "From here, I could stand and watch as you and your escort approached the palace, some . . . six candles ago." Estazar nodded slowly, squeezing her eyes shut again. In fourth a candle, this would all be over. Maybe even two stories. Then she could go back to her books and never have to worry about this again. Something in her told her otherwise. She would reach this point eventually, whether she liked it or not.

"I'm sorry, grandfather, I was scared. I know I should not be," Estazar stuttered, but Koudad stopped her with a wave of his hand. 

"Enough," he said. "You were scared. I know what that means. You have never met your grand-uncle Nafolosh, but he could bring a giyamardom to heel with his glare. I . . . had never realized I could possess the same presence." His face began to soften somewhat, and Estazar could see just a little bit of the grandfather under the shah. As quickly as the crack in his face opened, it closed again. Perhaps he was a magus, and could control his face with magical powers. Perhaps he intended to steal hers, and add it to his collection of bodies he puppets about pretending they are still people within. She had to get out! She had to escape! She had to . . . ignore these foul impulses. "Put your hand on the diadem," Koudad instructed, pulling her from her internal conflict.

"I cannot, grandfather. I am not shahbanu," Estazar replied, staring up at it. If the stories are to be believed, Demes was as old as she when he united the many peoples living in what is today the Kera province of Kera-Bijan. He was only a year older when he conquered the unbreakable city of Bijan and made their language the standard across his domain. However, a tired huff from her grandfather sent chills down her spine, telling her that it would not do well for her or if she were to disobey. With shaking hands, she reached for the grand diadem, running her hands first along the golden band, then each of the five colored crystals lining its face. Red for air, yellow for fire, green for water, blue for wood, and finally white for metal.

"Do you recall why a shah touches the diadem when passing judgement, but does not wear it?" Koudad asked, his hands wrapping around hers to lock them against the metal monstrosity.

"B . . . " Estazar was at a loss for words.

"You're not leaving until you answer."

"B . . . " as her finger crawled towards the white crystal, she suddenly recalled. "B-Because the shah borrows power from Demes' judgement, but may not equal him. In that manner, the shah recognizes himself as great, but not so great as to challenge the gods themselves, who granted their wisdom to Demes. Thus, it is a lesson, given to the shah every time he touches the diadem, to be strong in times of weakness, yet remain humble, even in the face of his inferiors." The words tumbling from her mouth were not hers, but rather belonged to something else entirely, borrowing her mouth as an instrument of noise. She was under his spell, he the magus, who is the true power behind her grandfather.

"Good," Koudad said, letting go of her hands. "You would be surprised as to how many of your cousins either do not know this, or have chosen to forget. Go find Satraps Abafrir and Farrodana. They have been tasked with escorting you from the city to our allies in northern Kammir, where you may avoid the daggers of our more . . . upstart relatives. Go to your room, and gather your things. You leave as soon as may be done." Estazar nodded, and nearly ran from the room, tucking her arms close to herself. She had only ever left the city of Zanateyin a few times in her life, and now she was to leave it behind. Her mind was racing with thoughts, and how many of them truly belonged to her, she didn't know.