NELNIFA CORLEDIA has a weak voice. When outrage sparks because of her mistake, she diverts the attention to the real problem: the truth to why their territory is poor. This takes Nelnifa to fishing ports, weaving districts, and back to the very plac...
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2404 Xavem 17, Jyda
Nelnifa gripped the sheets of parchment her report was written in. It contained her findings from accompanying Morka to the baskets' drop-off point. Once she handed the report to the Potentate's office, it would be out of her hands. Technically, this lay in her mother's jurisdiction, but by the looks of it, she would have to escalate it to the Court eventually. Nelnifa might have been doing them the favor by saving them half the work.
Her sandals scratched against the manor's stone floor. A trail of sand and silt bled off in her wake, telling everyone passing her by where she had been and where she was heading. Thank the gods there wasn't any rug in here or that might have been a huge problem for the cleaners.
Tapestries depicting several scenes from mythology and even some from the island's history lined the walls and flanked Nelnifa's way. They hung from bars nailed near the ceiling and only stopped a few inches from the ground. Her eyes scanned ethereal faces carved into cloth using threads of different colors. She hasn't even realized Umtir was supposed to have hair as green as the weeds of the sea.
When she passed the familiar tapestry depicting how Pelrise Seros established the Barden Lighthouse, Nelnifa turned the corner opposite it, bringing her directly in front of the Potentate's office. A set of wooden doors carved with festoons and other plain geometric designs stood in her way. She was about to reach out and grasp the bar handles when they burst inward. The hinges whined softly in her ears. She raised her head from the handles and her gaze landed on the familiar face of a Marshal.
"Marshal Araxi," Nelnifa greeted, her tongue miraculously not tying itself into knots upon having been forced to meet a person's eyes. "Good morning."
The Marshal narrowed his dark eyes on her. "You shouldn't put your nose into things you do not understand," he said. Nelnifa raised an eyebrow. Well, that's an appropriate greeting, for sure. "What business have you with the Potentate?"
Nelnifa scoffed. "What is that to you, Marshal?" she said. Where in Umtir's generosity was she getting all this bravado? "As far as I am concerned, I'm never to disclose to anyone what my office is doing nor should you be sticking your nose into things you do not understand."
She pushed past him, making sure to flick her hair behind her shoulder more to get it out of the way than convey a statement. She looked back, noting how large the Marshal's footprints were, judging from the smudge of sand and silt he left against the floor. He was wearing boots, judging from the pronounced pattern of the imprinted sole. It wasn't characteristic of sandals and certainly not of bare feet.
She cursed as her mind stored the useless information for her to either recall or forget five minutes later.
Ilphas Araxi. He wasn't someone Nelnifa should be messing with, it seemed. While she was at it, perhaps she should ask her father or even Marshal Laie to conduct a background check on him. Then again, he might have been serving longer than Nelnifa had that his knowledge and instincts had been sharpened to a fault. He might know she was being suspicious of him.
