Move
"It's about Mother," the woman whispered excitedly. A rare smile touched her solemn face. "She's pregnant again."
Xerxes was silent for a precious few seconds, seconds he would not have wasted otherwise. Mozenrath stood still near the back of the room, waiting for his reaction. His time would be up in another minute, and Mozenrath would have to end the spell.
The air shimmered as the auburn-haired princess reached a hand toward Xerxes, and the latter responded in kind. Their palms nearly touched at the intangible surface of the portal, but as always, they could not traverse the distance between them.
"I think it'll be a boy," she said softly, looking into her brother's eyes. The prince did not blink. "I just have this feeling."
Xerxes remained quiet and let her speak of their parents, who were away from the kingdom at the moment and regretted missing the chance to see their only son. Mozenrath wondered how well his sister knew him, whether she knew of what lay beneath his silence. Was it stunned joy or fearful unease?
She closed with the words she and the rest of her family always used. "We love you and miss you. Stay strong; may the mountains remember you."
"May the mountains remember you," Xerxes echoed. He let his hand fall to his side as Mozenrath stepped forward and closed the portal. The latter asked no questions, knowing the prince would eventually speak up and tell him what was on his mind, as he always did.
It surprised him when Xerxes left the room without another word, his steps rigid and wrong. Mozenrath stood alone in the dimly lit chamber for a moment, reaching a preliminary understanding of his circumstances.
Xerxes was a prince, but a permanent prisoner. He was an only son, but soon he might only be a son, no longer an heir. This would be confirmed in several months.
From the even, heavy tread of his footsteps, Mozenrath knew the prince was unlearning the proverb his people always used in parting. Mountains had history, but no memory. They only remembered those who dared to move them.
