Chapter Eleven

Nowhere Land

They were close now. So close.

The Invoker studied the pool as Fymryn drew the Princess of the Moon and her strange entourage ever nearer to his tower. Once they were inside, Selemene would be truly vulnerable.

Dierdd had positioned the army perfectly for their strike against the Nightsilver Woods. Their shrouding magic would conceal them until the right moment, and not even Selemene would know of the attack until the Dark Moon Horde was upon Her temple.

He thought that it might have been prudent to kill the Princess of the Moon, but that was not the plan. It was not what had been agreed to.

There was a reason for this. He had to be patient.

Now the lotuses floating atop his scrying pool were as black as pitch, drawing in the light around them, casting shadows upon the water.

They were ready.


Before…

It was strange for Kael to feel such unease. He was a powerful mage, practically unassailable in his tower. This should have been a happy time for him, safe in his home with his beloved daughter.

He would have been happier if Selemene was here too, but she had her duties to attend to.

And Mene was growing weaker. It seemed that She would soon summon the Dark Moon.

Though Kael had no desire to see so many perish in the darkness it would bring, he saw it as necessary. Without Mene and Her chosen, the people beyond the Nightsilver Woods would have always feared the night and its terrors.

All She had asked for in return was love and devotion. Was that such a terrible thing? Why were people so fickle?

'Father?' Filomena took the seat next to him, she had evidently been outside, her hair was wet with rainwater. 'What troubles you?'

Kael shut the tome he had been studying. 'I wouldn't wish to worry you, Filomena.'

'You miss Mother. I miss her too.' Filomena said, her voice, normally melodic and joyful, was sad. 'I wish she could be here more often.'

'So do I.' Kael murmured. 'She too is troubled, and I would ease her heart if she would let me.' Surely if she stayed for longer, she would feel better. Filomena could make anybody smile.

Filomena's power was growing. Her natural aptitude for magic was astounding, far beyond what Kael had anticipated. She had been busy in the Endless Garden, gleefully expanding it. She was also capable of healing. Kael had found her tending to injured animals around the tower on more than one occasion. Despite her power, she still had not even a hint of malice within. Her heart was too pure for it, and Kael wondered what she would make of the world beyond their home. She had led a sheltered life, and perhaps it ought to remain so, yet he also wanted to her flourish and find her own path.

'Perhaps we should ask Mother to spend a couple of days here.' Filomena suggested. 'Surely Mene can spare her for a day or two.'

'If only She could. But Mene has great need of her these days.'

'Why, Father? What is wrong?'

'I'm sorry. I did not mean to worry you.' Kael forced a reassuring smile across his face. 'Your mother will help Mene to restore order, and all will be well, and then she will return to us. I promise.'

Filomena smiled. 'I'd like that. I'd like that more than anything.'

Kael could not help but genuinely smile. Filomena was such a gentle soul. 'Why don't we distract ourselves with some study? You can show me what you have learned.'

Filomena moved her chair to his side as he opened another tome. She was always keen to learn.

As he found a page devoted to healing arts, Filomena coughed. He did not hear the faint rasp deep in her lungs.


'This is it.' Fymryn announced softly. 'We're here.'

They all stared down into the valley below, filled with wild flowers and birdsong. The gently sloping walls were thick with grass, with trees standing tall and upright like old, gnarled sentinels crowned with leaves of varying hues.

'You said there was a tower,' Mirana recalled. 'Where is it?'

Marci raised an eyebrow. She tapped Mirana's arm, then pointed at something below.

Mirana continued to frown. 'There's nothing there, Marci.'

'I think there is.' Davion murmured. 'Look closely. Something is shimmering down there.' It was like a heat haze, a mirage on desert sand.

Marci placed both hands together and lifted them up.

'A tower?' Mirana raised her eyebrows. 'I still can't see it. What about you, Eserren?'

Eserren shook her head and glanced at Caewyn, who looked confused and merely shrugged.

'The tower is under an enchantment of some kind,' Fymryn explained. 'It's protected by an illusion. Trust me. It is there.'

Marci nodded. Evidently she could see it too, and her word was good enough for Mirana.

Slowly, they descended into the valley. Fymryn did not seem to be afraid, yet she was oddly reluctant to proceed. It was if she was expecting something.

Mirana was keen to continue, and at her urging Fymryn moved more quickly. Davion was ready to unfurl the old cloak covering the engraved blade of the Trestaine greatsword.

Fymryn came to a halt. All save for her and Marci stared with avid fascination as a great spire of smooth black stone appeared, shimmering before solidifying in front of their eyes.

The smooth doors opened as they approached. Unlike the last time she had been here, Fymryn hesitated on the threshold. The long hallway lay before her, and this time she feared what she would find at the end. She feared what might befall her friends.

Mirana and Marci served the Usurper, but they were good people. They were her friends. But the Invoker served Mene, and he would see the Princess of the Moon and her handmaiden as foes.

A hand settled upon her shoulder and she started, turning her head to see Mirana standing at her side. She was smiling. 'Thank you, Fymryn.'

Mirana stepped across the threshold. Fymryn remained where she was as the others passed her, Marci stopping to pat her arm and smile in thanks before following Mirana.

Fymryn stepped in behind them, the doors silently closing behind them. She remained a little way behind them as they advanced down the softly lit corridor and passed beyond the next set of doors.

When she stepped through, she found a blank wall behind her as she had before.

And her friends were nowhere to be seen.

'Well done, Fymryn.' The Invoker's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. 'Mene will be most pleased with you. She has chosen well.' Fymryn turned as his voice issued from behind her, unsurprised to see him emerge seemingly from the air itself. He smiled at her. There was little warmth there, yet he was glad. 'When we reveal ourselves to the world, you shall be first amongst Her vanguard, the first of a new generation of Nightblades.'


'Ooh!' Caewyn knelt to peer at a golden bloom. 'This is lovely. I didn't expect this at all.'

'Where are we?' Davion peered around at the seemingly endless expanse of flowers and trees, all arranged in evenly spaced circles, divided by smooth pathways of white stone. 'And what happened to our weapons and armour?'

As soon as they had stepped into what had appeared to be a hallway, they had found themselves here, devoid of weapons and armour. Fymryn was also absent, which led him to a reluctant conclusion: this was a trap, and she had betrayed them.

Oddly, Mirana did not want to believe it. 'Maybe this is just a precaution,' she was suggesting to Marci. 'The sage doesn't know us. Perhaps he wants to make sure we're not dangerous. Maybe he needs to speak with Fymryn alone.'

Eserren strode back into view, having set off for the other side of the garden in search of an exit. She was coming from the opposite side of the garden with Sagan padding after her, the laces and buckles of her gambeson trailing uselessly without her armour. She looked smaller without it, though she still seemed formidable. She was also frowning intensely. 'This place is not endless. If you walk to the edge, you end up on the opposite side.'

'An illusion mixed with a relocation spell?' Caewyn suggested, still examining the flowers.

Marci shrugged, then sneezed.

'It must be a strong illusion for these flowers to affect Marci.' Mirana murmured.

Marci sniffled. 'It's just the jadeblooms.'

Everybody stared at her, flabbergasted. She had been signing at Mirana, yet words had emerged from her mouth. Marci had spoken.

Marci frowned at them and raised her eyebrows in inquiry. 'What?'

'You spoke.' Mirana whispered, staring at her closest friend in wonderment. 'Marci… you spoke.'

'No, I didn't.'

'Don't use your hands,' Davion told her. 'Say something.'

Marci opened her mouth. 'Say what?'

The voice which emerged was high pitched and tremulous, a young girl's voice. It sounded strange emerging from the mouth of an adult. If they had not been stuck in this place, it might have been comical.

'Telepathy.' Eserren stated. 'It must be a form of telepathy. Marci probably isn't speaking as we are. She might not even be opening her mouth.'

'I'm not.' Marci looked truly flummoxed now. 'I'm not making any sound.'

'A glamour.' Caewyn said. 'This place must be thick with spells.'

'The whole place is a spell.' Mirana observed. 'I don't think we're in that tower now. I'm not even sure we're still in the real world. We can't be.'

'You are in a separate plane, Princess of the Moon.'

They all moved closer together, forming a loose circle, facing outwards. The deep, measured voice seemed to be coming from all around, words issuing from a mouth unseen.

'You are safe here. No harm will come to you, but you will not be allowed to leave.'

'If you are our host, you are a poor one.' Eserren grated. 'Show yourself.'

Sagan growled and bared his teeth, his claws extending as a figure appeared before Mirana. All of them fanned out and stood at Mirana's flanks.

The man standing before them was tall, robed in white, with flowing blond hair and a drawn, narrow face. Keen, piercing eyes surveyed them. Though he seemed to be young, the weight of years pressed down upon his shoulders like a heavy cloak. 'I am your host. I am the Invoker.'

Marci moved in front of Mirana and clenched her fists. The man, who could only be the enigmatic sage they had been seeking, was not intimidated. 'Do not bother to strike me, handmaiden. What you see is an illusion too. Wurm-forged you may be, but even your power cannot harm me from this place.'

'Where is Fymryn?' Mirana demanded. 'What have you done to her?'

The Invoker turned his head. Slowly, a familiar figure emerged from behind him. Fymryn, sorrowful yet still resolved.

'Fymryn? Did you plan this?' Marci demanded, still unintentionally channelling that childish voice.

Fymryn shook her head sadly. 'No. But this is how it must be. I… you are my friends, and I am sorry for lying to you all, truly, I am. But I must do this. I must do this for my people, and for Mene.'

Mirana stepped forwards, eyes wide. 'Why have you imprisoned us?'

The Invoker considered his words carefully, inscrutable. Mirana was reminded of Kashurra for a moment, yet he had showed more emotion than this man. 'Because it must be so. I cannot risk any of you interfering in my plans. You would oppose me, purely for the sake of the usurper you serve.'

Mirana gasped. 'You intend to bring Mene back! Do you know what She would do?'

'Yes, and I am going to see that it happens,' the Invoker regarded Mirana with what might have been pity. 'You may be the Princess of the Moon, but you know so little of Selemene. I know Her better than any. I oppose Her for good reason. Yours is a deceitful goddess, one who would gladly sacrifice or wish dead any who do not follow Her. If She had Her way, She would force all to follow Her cause.'

'Liar!' Mirana hissed.

The Invoker sighed and looked to Eserren and Caewyn. 'I cannot convince you, Princess of the Sun. Perhaps those who have seen Selemene's true nature in person can. But that is not my concern. I am to keep you here until my work is done. You will be safe here, but you cannot escape.'

'What about the lotuses?' Marci demanded. 'What have you done with them?'

'They belong to Mene once again, and they will bring Her back to claim Her rightful place. You have failed in your duty, handmaiden. It brings me no pleasure to say it, for you are a brave soul with a good heart, but it is the truth, and you must face it.'

Marci remained where she was, and Davion fully expected her to try and attack, or deny what she had been told.

But the fight drained from her and her shoulders sagged. She knew that it was true. She saw it as yet another failure. She had let Mirana down again. There would be no return to the Nightsilver Woods, not for her.

'Eserren,' Fymryn looked beseechingly at her and Caewyn. 'I know that you and Caewyn have no love for Selemene. You could help us. You could avenge Caewyn's people.'

Caewyn shook her head. 'I know what Mene will do if She returns. Vengeance is not what I want, Fymryn. Look at what it's done! It's turned you against us! We're your friends!'

'I have no love for Selemene, true, but I know what drives Mene now.' Eserren stated grimly. 'I will not follow Her. Serve Her if you will, Fymryn, but I will not.'

'A pity,' the Invoker murmured. 'But I expected no less. I admire your conviction, Dragon Knight, even if you have turned a daughter of the Coriel'Tauvi from the true goddess.' He took a step back, his eyes ranging over each of them. 'You will remain here. Provision will be provided.'

'Wait!' Mirana called. The Invoker paused with his back to her. 'You have beaten us, I admit that. Because of you, Marci and I can never return to the Nightsilver Woods.' As she spoke, tears filled her eyes. 'And I accept that. But your magic has allowed Marci to speak again. Can you… can you heal her? Can you heal Davion too?'

The Invoker sighed, not turning around. 'It is not within my power, Princess Mirana. I am no god, and even gods must abide by rules.'

'Like Mene will?'

'Selemene usurped Her. The fault lies with Her. All that has happened, and all that will happen, is Her own doing. I bid you farewell.'

Fymryn sighed and stepped closer to Mirana. 'I really am sorry, Mirana.'

Mirana glared at her, eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, she was close to saying something spiteful. She wanted to tell Fymryn that she should have put an arrow in her, but her face fell and she looked away. 'So am I, Fymryn.'

'I'll ask Mene to be merciful.' Fymryn promised. 'Maybe… maybe there is a way we can...' she stopped, knowing in her heart that Mene would not show any mercy to her friends, yet still clinging to a vain, vague hope. 'I'm sorry.'

'You have your cause, Fymryn.' Eserren said. 'I cannot fault that. But if you take it, we cannot follow you.'

Fymryn sniffled and wiped her eyes. Her chin was quivering, and her voice trembled as she spoke once more. 'I'm sorry.'

The illusions of her and the Invoker disappeared, leaving them in the endless garden.


'What will happen to them?' Fymryn asked, a plea in her voice.

They were back in the scrying chamber at the heart of the tower. The Invoker remembered how Filomena had enjoyed using it, simply looking at quiet places just outside the tower, sometimes looking out over the Temple of Mene, hoping to catch a glimpse of her mother.

The Invoker looked down at Fymryn. In some ways, she reminded him of Filomena. Her hair was almost as pale, and she too had a gentle spirit, though hers was marked by the lives she had been forced to take.

But Mene had chosen her. She had been born a Nightblade by Mene's will, the first in centuries. This was her destiny.

'I do not know, Fymryn,' he answered at last. 'I know how attached you have become to them, but we serve a higher cause. We cannot afford to let anything stop us.'

Fymryn wiped her eyes. 'Maybe… maybe they could come back to Coedwig with me. They could learn to follow Mene, if She gives them a chance.'

The Invoker sighed. He had known that he would have to tell her, and he had dreaded it. He had hoped that she would be able to return to her village and her pod victorious, a Champion of Mene, but Selemene had robbed her of that chance, just as she had robbed so many others of their hopes and their lives.

'What is it?'

'Fymryn,' the Invoker gestured to a low bench at the edge of the room. 'Sit down, please.'

Wary now, Fymryn perched on the edge of the bench. The Invoker sat next to her, trying to decide how best to tell her. 'I am sorry, Fymryn, but Coedwig is gone.'

'G-gone? What do you mean? What happened?'

'Selemene sent Her Moon Riders to destroy it.'

Fymryn stared at him, disbelieving. He could not blame her. 'No… no, they can't have… what about my friends? My pod? Did anybody survive?'

'No.'

Fymryn recoiled, as if he had just tried to hit her. She leapt from the bench and stumbled towards the pool, shaking and gasping for breath which wouldn't come.

'Breathe, Fymryn,' the Invoker stood and put an arm around her shoulders. 'Breathe. I'm sorry. If I could have done anything to save them, I would have. But we can avenge them.'

Fymryn broke down on the spot, sobbing as she fell to her knees. The Invoker slowly knelt with her and held her as she wailed, her tears dropping into the scrying pool. Flashes of colour fanned out in the ripples.

'I am sorry, Fymryn. I truly am. I know what it's like to lose everything.'

When she was ready, they would take those first steps towards vengeance.


Marci sat with her head in her hands, now rendered silent again. Mirana perched on the bench next to her, her arm around Marci's shoulders. 'Whatever happens, Marci, wherever we go, I will never abandon you. Never. I will always be there for you.'

Marci sniffled and managed to look up at Mirana. She signed at her, framing a question. What about Selemene?

'She'll understand. I'm sure She will. She'll just…' Mirana's voice cracked as she spoke, 'She'll just have to choose someone else.'

Marci was blaming herself, Mirana knew it. There was little she could do to assuage her guilt. She could tell her all of the nicest things she could think of, and it would not make any difference. Not now.

Eserren returned from another attempt to escape, unsuccessful once again. 'Nothing yet. We'll keep trying.' She sighed as she sat down on the other side of Marci and put a hand on her shoulder. 'We're not finished yet, Marci, we can still stop them.'

Marci shook her head.

'We can't give up, Marci.' Mirana told her softly. 'We can't.'

Marci exhaled heavily and lifted her head, her eyes closed. That was a good sign, Mirana had seen this before, especially after the Bloody Dance. Marci was finding her resolve.

When she opened her eyes again, they were clear and determined. She gave Mirana a single firm nod of her head.

'That's better. That's the Marci I know best.'

Marci indicated that she was going to try to find a way out, then stood and marched off towards the edge of the garden.

Mirana sat back, feeling drained. It was one thing for her to help Marci find her determination, it was another for her to find her own. She ran a hand across her forehead, exhaling shakily.

'Are you all right, Mirana?' Eserren realised what she had just done. 'Sorry. That was a foolish thing to ask.'

'It's all right, Eserren.' Mirana leaned forwards. 'I just… I know that the Invoker hates Selemene, and I can't understand that. But what really… I just can't...'

'I know. I can't believe that Fymryn betrayed us either. I didn't know her as well as you did, but she seemed to be a good person. Perhaps she still is, she just has a different cause.'

'How can you see it like that?'

'My father was a soldier. He never hated the men he fought. They fought for what they believed in, just as he fought for what he believed in.'

'Do you believe that Fymryn was right?'

'It doesn't matter.' Eserren replied. 'What matters is that Mene will summon the Dark Moon and many innocents will die, and I will not allow that to happen, not without a fight, because I believe that it is wrong.' She glanced at Mirana, her beryl green eyes hard. 'I despise Selemene, but I have no love for Mene either. Vengeance is a terrible cause to follow.'

'Does that make us right?'

'I'd like to think so. I have my code to follow, my moral compass. I call it a code because it elicits respect. There is no true code for the Dragon Knights, not like other knightly orders. We slay dragons. All we have to do is respect our fellow knights and obey our orders.'

'You're not as grim as you pretend to be, Eserren.' Mirana murmured slowly. 'You act like a soldier who's seen too much death, and maybe you have. But you hunt dragons to protect people, you risk your life and you honour a knight's code, you fight for your ideals. You've disobeyed orders because you follow your conscience. And you took in an orphan and raised her out of the goodness of your heart.'

Eserren was silent for a moment. 'It was the right thing to do, and I don't regret it. Not for a moment.' She watched as Caewyn peered around, trying to find a way out, but also stopping to admire the flowers. She had found that if picked one, another would regrow instantly. 'I'm less cynical than I used to be, because of her.'

'I know that we've had our differences, but I admire you, Lady Eserren. I wish I had your conviction.'

'You don't?'

'I thought I did.' Mirana sighed again. 'Now I'm not so sure.'


The Invoker watched the scrying pool, though he did not need to at this point. Dierdd would wait until the word was given. He just wanted to give Fymryn time.

He had worried that Fymryn might feel conflicted, mostly due to her unexpected friendship with the Princess of the Moon and her allies, but also because she was kind at heart.

Yet Selemene had ironically helped his cause by ordering the destruction of Coedwig. In doing so, she had made Fymryn Her enemy, and therefore an ally to Mene. She may have been Mene's Chosen, but she was only mortal.

She would want revenge, just as he did. They would take it together.

He heard her step into the scrying chamber. Gone were the simple green garments she had worn before. Now she was clad in black, protected by splint armour consisting of rigid leather and dark metal strips. The emblem of the Dark Moon occupied the lightweight plate protecting her vital organs.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and moist, and he could see where the tears had coursed down her cheeks. Yet when she spoke, her voice was steady. 'I'm ready.'

The Invoker nodded and held out a sword with an elegant, curved blade. It was darker than the night sky, except for the moon etched into the pommel. It was about the same length as an arming sword, but one-sided and clearly not made of simple steel. 'This is for you.'

Fymryn took it carefully. 'I've never used a sword before.'

'It's called Dawn's Bane. It was said that any who felt its touch in the night would never see another sunrise again. Legends aside, the blade can cut with the lightest touch. I have renewed its power, meaning that you can cast a shadow arc.' As Fymryn looked lost, he elaborated: 'A blade of pure shadow, it'll cut through almost anything save for strong arcane defences. You could slice through a dragon's hide with the blade alone.'

'Why give this to me?'

'Because you are Mene's Chosen. You are the first of Her new Nightblades. This blade was given to her greatest champions, and that is what you are to Her. It is because of you that She will return. Wield Dawn's Bane with pride, Fymryn, Chosen of Mene.'

Fymryn nodded and he handed her the sheath. She slid the sword into it and attached it to her belt. 'What happens now?'

'Now, we go to take our vengeance. We are going to the Nightsilver Woods, and we are going to depose the Usurper.' With a wave of his hand, the black lotuses floated from the pool and orbited him slowly, sucking in the light around them. 'It is time for Mene to return. Are you with me, Fymryn?'

Fymryn rested one hand on the pommel of Dawn's Bane. 'I am.'


Marci sighed as she found herself on the opposite side of the endless garden again. She sneezed as she passed another patch of jadeblooms. The garden seemed to stretch off into infinity, yet it had limits.

She was mute again now. She assumed that the Invoker had cast some sort of temporary spell on her to make communication easier, not that she'd had much to say.

Mirana was still sat in the middle of the garden with Eserren, and Caewyn had joined them. Sagan had fallen asleep nearby. Perhaps he had the right idea.

Looking at Mirana now made her insides squirm with even more guilt. Because she had failed to stop Fymryn, Mirana might never be able to return to the Nightsilver Woods.

Marci would have gladly chosen exile if it meant that Mirana could be safe and loved. And Mirana would be if she remained in the Nightsilver Woods.

Marci looked away. Maybe it would be better for Mirana if she stopped being a part of her life. What could have been different if Marci had never met her? What if she had died in that street all those years ago?

But Marci could not imagine a life without Mirana, she had been a part of her life for fourteen years. Once, they had even been mistaken for sisters. One travelling peddler they had met on the road had even wondered aloud if they were lovers.

It would be selfish of her to just leave Mirana anyway. She had made a promise, and she would keep it no matter what happened. If she was not welcome in the Nightsilver Woods now, she would have to find some other way to honour her pledge. Maybe there was something she could do to atone.

Maybe she could try to stop the Invoker from bringing Mene back.

Marci was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly bumped into Davion. Given his stature, she was surprised that she could have missed him.

Davion was also thinking, staring down at a patch of strangely shaped flowers without really seeing them. He looked up at her. 'Marci?'

Marci smiled weakly in response.

'Any luck?'

Marci shook her head.

'At least we're safe here.' Davion looked up at the "sky". It was glittering with stars now, though it might not have been accurate in terms of time. 'I used to enjoy stargazing back on the farm.'

Marci looked up at the stars too. She knew most of the constellations. She and Mirana had done their share of stargazing too, and Marci had learned how to navigate using the stars back at the Temple of Selemene.

'I don't suppose that voice you keep hearing has any advice?'

Marci shook her head and waved a hand vaguely in front of her chest. The Invoker had taken her amulet.

'Slyrak's pretty quiet too.' Davion told her. 'He thinks I'm an idiot, but he knows that transforming won't help.'

Marci raised an eyebrow. This was new.

'It's getting easier for me to understand his thoughts.' Davion explained. 'We don't exactly talk, but he makes his opinions known.' He sighed. 'Never mind him. How are you feeling?'

Marci shook her head, grimacing.

'It's a damn shame. If… if you can't go back, what will you do?'

Marci shrugged, then mimed Mirana's tiara and imitated walking with her fingers. Wherever Mirana went, she would follow.

'You wouldn't mind if I joined you?'

Marci could not help but smile. Of course he would be welcome. But it was still her fault that they had failed, and her hope plummeted.

'Hey,' Davion reached down and held her hand. 'We'll figure something out, Songbird. Did you want to spar? It might make you feel better if you flatten me a couple of times.'

Marci huffed lightly. Sparring might have helped, and she was tempted to accept. And yet…

He was still holding her hand. It easily dwarfed her own, strong and calloused, yet also warm and gentle. She stepped a little closer, lifting her eyebrows questioningly. With her other hand, she placed two fingers against her sternum, then touched them to his.

'I...' Davion's face started to darken. He was blushing. 'I'm not what… if I… gods, this is awkward!' He closed his eyes for a moment. Marci hadn't meant to put him on the spot like this, and she felt awkward in turn.

She shifted guiltily and looked down, but he placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. 'I don't know what's going to happen, or if we're ever going to escape this place, but… whatever happens, if there is anything between us, I want it to last. I care about you, Marci.' He looked into her eyes, and she felt mesmerised once again. His eyes did not suit his role. They were warm and kind, hardly the eyes of a monster slayer. 'What about you, Marci? Do you think there… could be something between us?'

Marci smiled again and took his other hand. Gently, she coaxed him to a more open space and guided one hand to her back. He understood what she meant as she began to slowly sway, leading him in a slow dance.

Like many Dragon Knights, Davion had been taught some of the basics when it came to courtly functions, and that included dancing. It was not unusual for Dragon Knights to be part of celebrations after a dragon hunt, though most of Davion's celebrating had been done in taverns.

Marci was the better dancer by far, but he was managing to keep pace with her. He was actually enjoying this. It felt intimate, as if he and Marci were sharing in something sweet.

Mirana watched them, a small smile creeping across her face. She supposed that it was pretty obvious now.

In the Helio Imperium, if somebody asked for a dance like this, it meant that they were interested in courting. Marci had just made her intentions plain. She did not know if Davion was fully aware of the custom, but it had been evident that he was attracted to Marci for some time now. By accepting her request, he had, by Imperium standards, reciprocated her interest.

By Helio Imperium standards, they were now courting. At least something nice had come out of this terrible mess. The world may have been coming to an end, either by Terrorblade or Mene, but at least Marci and Davion might experience a little joy before the end. Mirana hoped they would.

Caewyn leaned forwards as she watched, her expression happy and hopeful. Eserren barely seemed to react, yet there was the hint of a smile on her scarred face. Sagan was still fast asleep.

Marci stepped closer to Davion and laid her head against his chest. Davion put his arms around her, resting his head gently against hers. They both closed their eyes and simply stood there, holding each other amongst the flowers of the endless garden. Both of them were smiling, just content to be close to one another.

Mirana sighed, the mellow happiness she had felt fading away. Watching them dance made her remember the second time she had danced with Marci. Back then, Marci had accepted purely out of friendship. Mirana had hoped for more at the time, and part of her still did even now.

That second time was a memory marred. It had been on the fateful day when they had been forced to flee the Imperium, leaving their families behind, either already dead or awaiting death.

Mirana's thoughts strayed back to that day six years ago, the day known as the Bloody Dance.