Ell Sadem

FLASHBACK

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The pale face of the moon shone down through the slim windows into the narrow hallway, only interrupted by a passing form that shied from its dim light. Floorboards creaked, moaning under the man's weight. Old portraits followed his slow progress with unblinking, dead eyes, their scowls permanent and unchanged. Questions would come should he be caught, questions he was in no way prepared to answer. And yet Evan Ritcher continued through the sleeping manor, the air heavy with an unnatural stillness that he did not like. Maybe it was the solidarity of being the only one awake, or maybe it was the similarity between it and the tense atmosphere in the royal courts. Quiet, yet threatening.

Ell Sadem had not appeared to the negotiations in person for some time, and in the last fortnight, there had not been so much as a message. In times past when she could not be there in body, she was known to send lengthy letters to be read in front of the delegates with some objection or other, but there was quiet from her. It was odd.

He had seen Lady Elaina, but only briefly and she had not been acting as herself. She smiled a little too much, chatted maybe too freely, and for some reason or another, had shown him open affection. She was not a cold woman by any means, but affectionate she was not, especially publicly.

No one else batted an eye. No one thought it strange. No one but him and maybe one other. He paused at the garden doorway and listened intently until the night guard's rhythmic footfalls were well passed. The door didn't need much convincing to open for him, and he was thankful that the hinges made no protest.

Carefully he slipped out into the night, hugging the shadows to avoid the harsh brilliance of the moonlight against the terrace's white stone; What would cause Lady Elaina to no longer masquerade as the illusive Lady Sadem? Something must have happened, a threat maybe. But Ell Sadem had been threatened many times before to the point of attempted assassination and Eliana had not backed down. It made little sense—unless it had to do with that omen he had heard rumors of.

At the fountain, he paused for a moment, listening, scanning the darkness. A soft breeze caressed his cheeks, toying with his hair. Night bugs hummed a steady lullaby, a nocturnal bird cooing softly. Tiny lights flickered off the flagstone path in the thicker dark.

"Master Ritcher, is that you?" Softly, timidly the voice whispered above the shushing of running water.

"Miss Meira," he stepped into the light, scanning the garden for the younger of the two sisters. "I had hoped you would come.”