Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 18 - Fraught with Uncertainty

Kastali Dun

Saffra cursed the gods more times than she could count in the days following the death of Cyrus. The austerity of her sorrow was suffocating. More stifling still were the walls and people surrounding her. There was no way to escape any of it.

The moments following her vision, when at last she knew Cyrus was truly dead, she confined herself within her chambers. She had neither the courage nor the forbearance to face the occupants residing within the keep. Suffering their questions, their mournful faces, their looks of sympathy, were impediments too heavy for her breaking spirit.

Unlike the many people within the keep's walls, she had truly known Cyrus. He was like a brother to her. There were few within the whole of Kastali Dun whom she found herself capable of caring for. But assuredly, Cyrus was one of them.

"Lady Saffra," Jocelyn spoke softly. Her handmaiden busied herself, tucking away their morning breakfast remnants whilst paying her worried glances. "Might we take a turn about the keep's gardens this day? It's such a lovely sunrise. The fresh air would do you great good, my lady."

Saffra heaved a sigh. She was indeed in need of fresh air. Perhaps it would help her mood. "I suppose, Jocelyn. I cannot avoid it forever."

"Wonderful. I will see to your attire then, my lady."

"Thank you, Jocelyn. My gray gown will do for today, and for every day following until I say otherwise." She planned to wear the color for some time. Nothing demonstrated mourning more accurately than the ashen shades of drab melancholy.

Nodding, Jocelyn retreated.

As she prepared for the day, Saffra's mind continuously reverted to the very sights she tried so hard to circumvent. The vision she saw within the king's council chambers, brief as it was, plagued her dreams. It haunted her footfalls. It preyed upon her with the intention of driving her mad.

While the gods saw fit to show her very little, they had bequeathed her with enough. What she witnessed in those short moments, Cyrus lying motionless, his body still with cold lifelessness, a stab wound to his abdomen, and skin blackened where another long gash was, disturbed her to no end. It was horrific.

And then there was the golden-haired woman with the unnerving green eyes. She'd been there, crying over his dead body. It was the same person that Saffra had seen since childhood. What could be the meaning? She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Should she tell the king?

He'd also remained locked away, taking no visitors. He'd even turned his guards away from the inner portions of his chambers. Only those standing watch outside remained. It was said that his grief placed him in a great rage, and none dared call upon him in such a state. Even his own Drengr Fairtheoir kept their distance.

Should she trouble an already burdened man with these worries? Was it necessary to share her vision? Surely knowing Cyrus was dead was enough. The king did not need the gritty details. She dreaded the idea of describing the blackened skin of Cyrus's body or the stab wounds he had suffered. And what of the woman? With no other culprits present at the scene, what were the gods trying to tell her? Was she guilty?

She considered the possibility. But surely it could not be! Her gut said it was not so. But...what if her familiarity had turned Saffra blind to her true colors?

"Here, my lady. Let me lace your ties." Jocelyn prompted her to turn. She acquiesced, only half-aware of Jocelyn as she went through the mechanical motions of dressing.

"There now. You are ready."

She gazed at her figure in the mirror. Every aspect of her appearance spoke of death. The blandness of her attire, the pale shade of her brown skin, the redness of her eyes. Even her expression spoke volumes about her sorrow.