Disclaimer: I do not own The Vision of Escaflowne. Don't you dare sue me.

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Chapter 10: Requests

Queen Alakana stared wearily at the old, withering white cat before her. "How many more obstacles must our young ones face?" she asked, in a worn, wobbling voice. Her amber eyes glowed dully in the dim, orange glow of candlelight. The soothsayer's crystal ball, resting on the table, glowed a bright silver, its light bouncing off Adibah's thick white face fur and dotting her whiskers.

The soothsayer looked up from her crystal ball, her sharp blue eyes now glowing dimly gray. "Undeterminable, Your Majesty," she replied tiredly. "I wish I could say—it would take away some of the stress—but no one can. It's up to the children."

Alakana sighed. "Their families have requested your audience, Adibah. They're gravely worried, having not heard a thing about what's happening to their children. This is a cruel thing to do to parents and siblings, you realize." Her tired gaze turned cold, her eyes flashing brightly even in the room's meager light.

Adibah ground her jaw. "There's nothing I can do, but I shall see them, if that's what they wish, and if that's what Your Majesty wishes," she said, taking the role of an obedient subject; but her tone portrayed frustration and displeasure, and even rebellion.

"Yes, it is what I wish," the queen said, wearily but firmly. "Anything to take some of the stress off these poor folk is better than nothing."

Adibah's gaze was as cold as ice, and her tone was sharp. "Yes, Your Majesty."

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Zychlesk stared in awe at the floor-to-ceiling mirror that was one of the treasures of his chamber. The glass was clear and gleamed brightly, his own reflection unblemished, unwrinkled. It was bordered in polished brass that shone brightly in the golden sunlight that sneaked into the room through the open windows. The brass was not decorated with any gemstones, as were the mirrors of the Kalryn's Devil, and the mirrors in the halls, but with intricately carved vines, outlined in brass rope.

Rarely were any of the Kalryn Devil's subjects permitted such luxuries as full-length mirrors in their personal chambers—nor were they often granted chambers as large as this one. But Zychlesk was the Devil's Private Messenger, and thus was allowed such finery. His was not permitted the four-poster bed of his superior, but his bedframe was brass roped in red silk, his headboard and footboard also made of brass. He was also permitted silk and satin bedsheets, and although it was not as warm as the coarse cotton and wool bedsheets given to the lesser subjects, complaints were not worth the risk of losing such an honor. His window curtains were a thin red silk overlayered by thick red satin, the latter of which was currently tied back with silver braided rope, to allow the sunlight to stream in through the silk in rays of dark fire. His floor was carpeted in crimson, allowing a soft padding beneath his bare feet, but a padding tough enough to withstand his long claws.

Zychlesk closed his purple eyes briefly, his mind's eye immediately flaring with the image of his master in all his glory, without the covering his thick violet robes. His heart thrashed wildly against his ribcage, despite the numerous times he had inhaled and exhaled deeply, in attempt to calm it down. He swallowed hard, a part of him determined that it was sinful to have seen such a thing and still be alive to remember it. Should he force himself to forget it? But another part of him refused to let go of so precious a memory. What was he supposed to do? What would his master say?

He turned to the mirror again, and absently lifted one hand to smooth his whiskers. After seeing his master without a hood, without his robes, Zychlesk did not see any reason to wear such a heavy hood in the privacy of his own chamber. He had never questioned the unspoken rule of never removing one's robes or hood, but only because the Devil had never been seen clad in anything besides folds of violet. But what of now? Why should one not remove one's own hood, as long as one is alone?

The dull thud of the brass knockers on the brass plate on his wooden door interrupted his thoughts, and he jerked in surprise. His eyes clouded with annoyance, and he pulled his hood over his face, folding his ears against his head to keep from smushing the tips. He wanted to curl his lip into a snarl, to build up a fury to unleash on his sudden visitor, but he could not bring himself to do it. Once, he had been able to; but now, it seemed, he was changed. Luckily, no one would be able to see the softness that had glazed over his normally sharp purple eyes. No one would be able to see that his face was absent of the annoyed snarl he usually greeted afternoon visitors with. They would see only darkness.

"Come in," he said, forcing a growl into his voice. It was harder than usual, but he managed a convincing growl of anger. The door opened slowly, but he did not turn to greet his visitor. Rather, he kept his eyes solely on the mirror in front of him, and only when he heard the door close with a click did he turn.

He was met with a figure clad in the scarlet robes of the priests, its face hidden by numerous folds. A thick, silver braided cord was draped around its waist, signifying high rank. Zychlesk felt a flare of hostility and fear. The priests were some of the Devil's closest advisors, and were to be rightly feared, as well as respected.

Zychlesk forced himself to remain impassive, lest the priest was capable of reading his emotions. Was this priest here to punish him for setting eyes upon the unrobed Kalryn's Devil? Had the master sent this priest to send him to the fiery gates of hell?

"How may I help you, Honored One?" the Private Messenger said, his voice strained with politeness and refinement. Although it threatened to break through and roar like a mighty lion, his fear remained just beneath the surface.

The priest slowly rolled up its scarlet sleeves, revealing slender arms covered in silky silver fur sprinkled with tiny black dots. The tip of each finger was white, and the long black claws were sharpened to dangerous points that were painted silver. The palms were also white. Zychlesk eyed those arms, those fingers, with wide eyes hidden by his hood. These were not the thick, muscular arms of a male. Were the priests all frail creatures whose only strenth lay in their powers, not their physical bodies?

Slowly, the hands lifted to the scarlet hood and gently pulled it away, surprisingly not shredding the fabric. Zychlesk was glad that his face was covered, for his jaw dropped in shock. The figure he was staring at was not male but female—not a priest but a priestess!

Her face was the same silky silver as her arms, mottled with black. She had no ear tufts, and the backs of her ears were not black but simply silver sprayed with black, and decorated with swirls in crimson paint. Her narrow, slanted eyes were the color of emeralds; her eyelids were streaked with crimson paint, and her eyes were outlined with beautiful, elegant crimson designs. Her thin lips, also, were painted crimson. The top of her head bore thin black lines of fur that thinned as they made their way toward the point just between her eyes, where they mottled with the swirls of crimson paint.

Zychlesk felt his heart thrash against his ribcage again, but this time not out of fear. He did not recognize the emotion that swept throughout his entire body and set the very blood in his veins on fire; but he could very well guess what it was. He took a deep breath and closed his gaping mouth.

"You may remove your hood, Messenger," the priestess said, using Zychlesk's respectful title. A thin smile wavered on her lips, adding to her brilliance. Zychlesk bowed his head and slowly peeled away the heavy black folds, careful not to shred the fabric with his claws. Although his facial designs were more intricate and colorful than the priestess', he felt plain and common next to her. He raised his eyes, and amethyst met emerald. He felt another rush of that unfamiliar fire, but could not tear his eyes away from hers—nor did he want to.

"Zychlesk, I have been sent to request your attendance at a private council meeting with the priests and the Lord," she said, the trace of a smile still lingering on her lips. Zychlesk tried not to show his shock at how informally she was addressing him, as if he were a friend, when they had never met before! "The meeting begins in half an hour's time. Your presence is not required until then."

Zychlesk bowed his head in respect. "I shall be there as my lord wishes," he said solemnly. He wanted to say something else, anything else, but knew not what. He stood there dumbly, staring at this priestess who so intrigued him. Finally, not sure if he was doing the right thing, he ventured, "If Honored One does not object, may I request your name?"

The priestess cocked one invisible eyebrow, wrinkling her fine crimson tattoos, but the smile on her face did not fade. "No, I do not object, Messenger Zychlesk." Her smile broadened slightly, and she tilted her head the tiniest bit, giving her a slightly girlish, flirtateous look. "My name is Jyaozabel."

"It is my honor, Honored Jyoazabel," Zychlesk said, not sure of what else to say.

"As it is mine, Messenger Zychlesk," Jyaozabel replied, raising her eyebrow again. Pulling her hood to cover her face once more, she turned and exited the room, without proper goodbyes—but it was not as though they were expected. Priests were not even expected to greet anyone. Zychlesk stared at the spot on the carpet where she had stood, as if his gaze would cause her to materialize out of nowhere to occupy that space again.

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To Be Continued…

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I apologize for taking so long to update. I had meant to update at Christmas or New Year as a present to everyone, but it turned out I was so busy that I could not make the time…and then I was plagued with writer's block (go figure). But hopefully I am getting back in gear. *knocks on wood* Do you have any idea how guilty I feel about making you wait over a month for the next chapter—and even guiltier that this is not a ten-page-long chapter or something to make up for it? I am working on more, and hopefully shall update again soon within the month.

Also, due to FanFiction.net's new policy of "Do not use chapter space for author's notes," I can no longer post up excuses *coughcough* whenever I am taking a particularily long time to update. So, from now on, all such notices shall be posted in my profile. No, this is not an advertisement for everyone to flock to my profile. I just hate leaving everyone in the dark; but I also prefer not to break any rules. So, there. I update my profile quite frequently.