Zack waits in the corner of Lady Sherwood’s parlour as Moira surveys the room. When she crosses the lamp, he notices the new bruises hiding under her make up. He chews the inside of his cheek, remembering Theo’s face when he told him the news. ‘Don’t be angry sir, but the princess is gone.’ Gone? His meeting with Lex, wasn’t that long; he gave him the tentative schedule for Allan’s grand ball to welcome Moira to the throne. Then he was on his way. What was she doing out of bed so early? Either way, she devised a plan to leave and he was the last to know. When he tracked her down, it was too late.

Furious was an understatement; he planned to forgo protocol and lash out against her recklessness. But then he saw her. Limping beside Chris with a shaking Sara in tow. In that moment his anger deflated. Now he stands patiently, waiting to see what Lady Sherwood’s explanation will be. But he can’t keep his eyes from Moira. Bandages on her ribs bulk under her dress and despite her long skirts, he notices she doesn’t place her sprained foot fully on the floor. I had one job, and I couldn’t even do it.

“Would you prefer to sit Your Highness?” Lady Sherwood conceals her displeasure with a fake smile.

“Forgive the hour Your Ladyship, but you are in procession of something I require.”

“With all due respect, you already claimed my only niece, what more do you desire?”

“I wish to retrieve Sara’s Dragon Eye. He doesn’t belong to you.”

She straightens her back, squaring her shoulders as she purses her lips. Before today he considered Lady Sherwood as peculiar woman, but the true compacity of her callousness is as apparent as the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes. But Moira isn’t about to back down, she repeats her statement with a hint of a plea. She relents, lowering her shoulders before approaching a fireplace where a green lacquer box sits.

“I want nothing of that life here,” she grabs the box holding it at arms length. “Take it and never bring her here again.”

He peers over Moira’s shoulder as she opens the lid, revealing two glass objects resting on a soft black satin cushion. Sara’s marble lays peacefully in its groove above a glass instrument. Inside the rambunctious dragon is doing Gods know what inside his little prison. The second, a flute crafted in glass, reflects the dancing flames behind them. A strange but beautiful creation.

“Lord Rose owned one of these,” Moira pulls the flute free. “I saw him lull a dragon to sleep, although I never heard a sound.”

“Most Tamers do,” she explains pacing the room, refusing to glance at them. “Dragons respond to tones and the energy of what is beyond this world. The flute is uniquely designed to reach register’s that only dragons can hear. It is a family invention and every member of our clan had one. It is only fitting for Sara to have mine; it has no use to me.”

“How can you speak so fondly of her after what you put her through?”

“Do not conflate my nostalgia for love. I relocated to Alexanderia to start a new life, to put the backwards village behind me. The Gods in their cruelty found room in my luggage for that box. My brother kept the Eye, but the flute survived the journey. I tried to destroy it several times throughout my marriage. I am beginning to wonder if I would ever be granted the resolve to kill the last piece of my old life.” She turns from the window and sits in the plush chair with a sigh. “Perhaps I never will.”

“That is between you and the Gods, but this is for the best.”

“I kept my side of the bargain, Your Highness. I suggest you keep yours.”

“Of course, Your Ladyship, Sara won’t cross your path again, unless you choose to cross hers.”

She doesn’t speak as he helps her into the awaiting carriage. The rocking and steady trot of the horses puts him at ease as he watches the streetlamps pass them. People walk, chatting and laughing, as they enjoy the summer evening. Music drifts from the tavern doorways while children shove meat pies in their mouths listening to the melody. Its hard to forget the night he, his mother, and baby sister ran through these streets. If Susan had lived, she would’ve been a little older than Sara.

The thought sticks to his chest, the realization setting in, he imagines a full fledge child not the image of a crying baby haunting his dreams. Sara likes to sing and dance; would Susan do the same or would she be quiet and keep to herself? Maybe she would be rambunctious and insist on learning how to fight with a sword? All these possibilities he didn’t dedicate the time to consider. If it were Susan, and not Sara, would he have ignored Chris’s concerns regarding Lady Sherwood?

There’s no relation between him and Sara, she was passing through his life. But as he glances at Moira’s indifference as she glances through the window, he understands why she did it. Sara is her Susan, and if the roles were changed, he would have done anything to keep her safe. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, her anxiety radiates and splashes over him in waves. Despite her expressionless face her fingers fidget with her sapphire rings. He hates that he can’t read her, to offer the solution she needs to solve the problem she faces.

“Is everything alright Your Highness?”

“Please stop calling me that, it’s just us.”

“It’s inappropriate, Your Highness.” She purses her lips but ignores him. He witnesses her struggle every day, with her father’s demands, her personal expectations, and her solitude. He can’t determine whether it’s her social rank or herself that pushes him away. “Why didn’t you summon me today? Soldiers are at your command, it's good to have reinforcements.”

“I’m not as helpless as everyone in the palace thinks I am.”

“Asking for help isn’t about weakness, it’s a principle of leadership.”

“There isn’t one person in that palace that believes I’ll lead anything more than a dinner party.”

“You have more allies than you think. And more supporters than you know.”

“How about we return to not speaking.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

He helps her from the carriage, ignoring the grimace she makes as she steps on the injured foot. As they enter the palace, he senses her retreating behind a wall she constructs around herself. The palace feels different now that she returned. Allan is more irritable and Lex is keeping secrets. Watching the exchange between her and the king is eye opening, he’s never known Allan to be short tempered. Even on the stressful days he never resulted into open threats.

Their relationship is strange, and he can’t exactly place how it all started. Not to mention the question of Kipling hangs over the gilded building, and Lex refuses to address it. The soldiers are whispering about it, and soon it’ll be so far out of control someone will have to comment on it. It keeps him from sleeping; especially knowing the secret meetings his uncle attends at night. He can’t help but feel that dire peril approaches with each passing hour. And they’re already ill-prepared.

“Do you have the Twerp’s pet?” Eclipse and Chris meet them on the staircase.

“They will be reunited in the morning,” she motions to the box in her arms. “Did the doctor visit?”

“Yes, he came and left. Chris put her to bed a while ago, all is well. However, you are my current concern. You expended a lot of magic today; I am surprised you are still coherent at this point.”

“It’s worth it to have her back.”

“It was reckless,” Zack adds.

“Most certainly, but nonetheless, I am impressed.”

“What about you?” she smiles, “I didn’t think you still had the Ruby Light in you, old man.”

“I am not half as old as you think I am,” he snorts, “then again, your exploits over the years is enough to give anyone grey hair. Speaking of old exploits, the General is assigning me a task regarding the Council’s report from Lollardum’s Trade Conference. I depart tonight. While I am there, I will ensure your staff is repaired.”

“Since when do you work for Stone?”

“Moira, it is a favour.”

“I know what you’re planning— any excuse to return there— but it won’t make any difference. The Council won’t appeal their decision. Let it go.”

“You are my Mage and they will recognise your abilities. I will return as soon as I can,” his ears droop when Moira pats him on the head. She vanishes into her room without a word. “Captain, take care of her in my absence. As a favour to me.”

“Wait, what is happening?” his heart trembles, he glances to Chris who offers a shrug.

“Innocents are not permitted in the Kingdom of Ancients thus your uncle enlisted me to gather the information he seeks.”

“I understand that part. But what’s this between you and her?”

“Her manipulation of the air element surpasses her current rank’s classification. Despite her objections, the Council must be notified.”

“Rank?”

“Mages are assigned ranks based on their proficiency to manipulate the elements. Most Mages master one or two in their lifetime. The most dedicated fall between mastery of three and all four.”

“How do you know Moira’s mastered an element? Is there a test or something?”

“The Academy has rigorous testing protocols, considering a Mage’s rank is associated with their political station, it is important that the system is standardized.”

“But we aren’t in the Kingdom of Ancients.”

“No, we are not. And thank the Gods for that. But there is one magic test that is universal.”

“Which is?”

“Whether magic is successfully manipulated and controlled with or without a staff. I can not indulge in detail about my Mage’s abilities to an outsider but have faith when I say, what I saw in the mountains changes everything.” With that he leaves without another word or explanation.

“Can someone please tell me what’s happening here. Can this not wait?”

“Oh, you know, more stuff we’re not privy too.” He shrugs but places an arm around his shoulder as they walk towards the throne room. “We got something else to worry about. You remember our excursion at Lollardum’s docks the night Moira went for a swim?”

“Sure, say that for the whole palace to hear,”

“All I’m saying is boss man is on the case, so take it as you will.”

“I can’t deal with something miles away in Lollardum while there’s more at stake here.”

“What do you mean?”

He ignored his gut feeling with Lady Sherwood and he isn’t about to do it a second time with Moira. Chris regards him, his piercing gaze temps his thought from his lips. But the words don’t manifest, it’s a thread that pulls through his chest and anchors in his gut. Every time he tries to grasp it, understand the source of the worry and dread, it slips away. Then careens through him like two jousters each second, they gallop faster, lance poised, the nostrils of their horses flaring. Any second they’ll collide.

“There’s lots of moving parts, some good some worse all spinning around us. And the one person who keeps Moira centered is leaving for only Alona knows how long. Tell me that doesn’t concern you?”

“Not everything that spins is chaos, my friend. But I get the sentiment, if you rather I could stick closer to Moira. You know for her safety.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Actually, I’m very possible. It’s part of my charm.”

"Keep an eye on her, just an eye."

"What a glorious eye it will be!"