"Leu?" A lanky girl with reddish braids placed a hand on Leudora's shoulder. Leudora felt her smooth touch but did not flinch. Instead she lifted a finger to silence whatever comment her niece had prepared.
"The Veil resonates strangely in my ears. This shouldn't happen." She snapped her fingers, listening to the soft trills echoing through air. "Almost like a birdsong." Spinning on her heel, Leudora headed toward the stairs in the center of the Eastern Railway station, her long black coat flapping behind her like a heavy curtain stirred by a gentle breeze. Her niece Amaltheia did not lag behind, her attentive gaze focused on Leudora's finely sculpted features.
She was used to unpleasant scrutiny. Most people stared at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity. On a rare occasion, she registered admiration in their minds. Oscillating between weariness and amusement, Leudora had learnt to ignore both like she did wind gusts – powerful as they were, they always passed.
She slipped past ignorant bystanders and hurried forward, short windswept hair obscuring her vision in a blur of dark auburn. Amaltheia lingered by her side, always trying to glean more from her composed face than Leudora was willing to reveal. Leudora's pallid complexion and the feverish gleam in her grey eyes gave off an otherworldly vibe that many found captivating. Amaltheia was no exception.
She stopped, staring at the familiar contours of the platform, tasting the air heavy with unshed rain. White fingers picked at a silver octagon pendant hanging from her neck. She was still wearing the sign of a Fasma scholar even though the Archon had expelled her years ago. Old habits, like old regrets, refused to die. It was only when Amaltheia drew closer that Leudora dropped the pendant and clasped her hands behind her back.
"We are being followed," Amaltheia said quietly.
"Most definitely." Leudora stared into the distance, an amused smirk frozen on her fine lips.
"You sound as if nothing surprises you any longer."
"Few things do." She scoffed and continued walking. "You have no reason to share my ideas or to trust me. Yet, given the circumstances, we could both use the help of Professor Asenova. Your brief excursion will benefit all."
Amaltheia nodded gravely.
"You trust me enough to ask your former mentor to meet me in Bucharest despite the travel ban imposed upon our family. I should consider myself honored."
"Honored to keep us and our Psychic kin safe from the rest? It is ironic, I must admit." The muscles of her arm tensed when Amaltheia grabbed her shoulder. Leudora lifted a slanted eyebrow. "You want to read me, Amaltheia. I would expect you to know better. Save your energy."
"Do you truly believe I can muster an alliance with Despina Asenova, and secure her help?" she asked. Leudora looked past her, testing Amaltheia's patience.
"Professor Asenova alone cannot lift the travel ban imposed on the Lascaris. But she can influence others to take your side when you return." She paused. "She is the most powerful Offcast alive, although few are smart enough to see that."
Amaltheia scoffed and swallowed her reply. Leudora smirked bitterly: it was Amaltheia's time to deliver a customary speech about the great legacy of their kin and the fundamental injustice of the Realm. This time, she was too tired to listen. Her place had never been with the Lascaris. She had never intended to join them. Was Amaltheia truly so indifferent to the single legacy that mattered – to their past? It alone concealed the reason for the Veil's sudden decay. It alone hid the answers to the mysteries that shaped the world. They lived between pasts and futures, not knowing either.
A small wrinkle crossed Amaltheia's smooth forehead. "Despina Asenova is a time-master. She may come from a family of energy-twisters, but she is not exactly like us."
YOU ARE READING
Byzantine Purple
Fantasy"History is a survivor's tale. It knows no villains. Only failures." A decade ago, Leudora had her major enemies eliminated - the scientist known as the Dalmatian Serpent, and his followers, who sought her people's blood. A ruthless guardian of her...
