It was late, a few hours after the evening meal. Kingdom affairs finished for one more day, Ashura wandered the castle, lost to thought. He wasn't paying much heed to where he was going, and only noticed enough of his surroundings to keep him from running into a wall or a closed door. Guards proudly snapped to attention whenever he happened to idle past them, and out of ingrained habit he waved them back to their positions.
Recently, he had taken to walking the corridors at night. He would do anything to avoid sleep, and dreams, for even a little while longer. Perambulations through his castle, where he could safely blank his mind and indulge in inattentiveness, seemed a desirable alternative to his bedchamber's dread promise.
The liquid strains of a harp, skillfully played, flowed into the hallway. The music was peaceful and soothing. He followed the sound, knowing who he would find at the end of this quest. He came to the entrance of the music room and stood there silently, resting one hand on the doorframe.
At the far end of the chamber by the roaring fire, Lady Kendappa leaned into her harp, eyes half-lidded and dreamy, running her fingers over the strings with a master's confidence. Her flowing, mink-trimmed sleeve slipped down as she played, and a sour note rang out. She stopped playing, muttering under her breath.
"That's a lovely gown," Ashura said, "but you really should wear more practical sleeves when you practice."
"Oh. Your Majesty!" Startled, she rose to her feet and bobbed a little curtsey.
The formal manners she always used in public places, something he barely noticed under normal circumstances, made him feel unaccountably weary. "Please, none of that tonight." He found a well-cushioned chair near her and settled into it, propping an elbow on the armrest and letting his head sink into his hand. "None of any of it."
She studied him with her canny, discerning gaze. He knew he should square his slumped shoulders, lift his head and straighten his spine, but it would take more energy than he currently possessed. Even his false smile wouldn't come. It was too late for such deception, anyway. Kendappa always saw too much, too quickly.
"What troubles you?" she asked softly, taking the chair next to his.
"What do you mean?" he responded, deliberately obtuse. He could still manage some small deception, at least. Words didn't take much effort.
"Forgive my bluntness, but you look tired."
Ashura was well aware of the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "I haven't been sleeping well," he admitted.
"What serious matter weighs on your heart this time?" She gave him a gentle smile. "The raiders from the south?"
"No, they've been quiet this winter. Things are peaceful right now."
"A particularly tangled trade agreement, then?"
He shook his head. "I have no present concerns with matters of state. Perhaps," he mused, "that is the problem. The calm routine leaves my mind free to brood on things I cannot control."
"Like the weather?" she tried again, laughing this time.
Lady Kendappa was his first cousin and childhood friend. She was a high-ranking courtier and a modest wizard. In addition, she possessed a shrewd mind and was very beautiful, as well. Her major flaws were a near obsession with strength and her tendency to view kindness in others as weakness. Those traits often proved an advantage to the kingdom, so Ashura accepted them in the same spirit that he accepted her other talents.
In almost all things she was a trusted advisor and counselor, and his closest confidant. But true dreams demanded silence of the dreamer. He could not unburden himself to her, not now, not ever.
"If I work at it," he said, "I can control the weather."
"You forget, cousin, I've seen you attempt it. You only manage to alter the weather a little bit." She held up her hand, pressing her thumb and index finger together. "A teensy, tiny little bit."
He finally smiled.
"That's better. You had me worried," she said.
"You needn't worry about me," he lied. After so many years of kingship and true prophetic dreams, he was an excellent liar.
"Everyone worries when the king is ill."
"I'm not ill."
"Sick at heart, then." She got up and moved back to her harp. "Would the king like me to play anything in particular?" she asked demurely.
Closing his eyes, Ashura leaned back against the cushions. "Something soft," he requested with a sigh. "Something tranquil. Please."
Lilting music filled the room, falling upon his ears like the gentle snowflakes of an early spring shower. The delicate sounds were relaxing, the comforting heat of the fire warmed him, and he started to doze off. Perhaps that was her intention, to lull him to sleep. He accepted her gift, and did not dream that night.