Parchment hissed as it slid into the depths of a busy, congested folder. Sitting back in her chair, Porom let out a deep sigh. The labors of the day left their aches like fingerprints along her spine. Silence slinked into the room, bringing with it drowsy, dreamy comforts and the promise of tomorrow's opportunity. What was left could be addressed promptly at sunrise. Yes…
N-No! The sun had barely even set; its light yet filtered through the windows, painting long, black shadows in bold, inky strokes on the walls. Certainly the light was orange and dusky, but it revived in her a moment's vigor, and the young Lady Elder took up another file, eyes wide like pinned-open curtains. So long as there was a slither of light in this realm, she could spare another moment. As a daughter of Mysidia, was she not duty bound, and honored besides, to expend as much as she could toward the works of her office? Though her toes wriggled anxiously and her heart sighed again, she straightened her back and loomed over the papers, trying to discern which of these documents demanded the most priority. Date, relations, and the like; a minute became minutes became an hour longer. Crickets chirped impatiently on the windowsill.
Then, slow-passing Time skidded to a halt. A single sentence commanded the direction of Porom's gaze, dispelling her each Professional Thought with a string of words scrawled in forest green cursive: We humbly request your assistance, Lady Elder, in situating our newest sister, Callisto of Lissos, into her position as Epopt of Troia. Please send Leonora our regards.
She read the words once, then once again. The sentences leading to and flowing from this particular line seemed to vanish, accepting their immediate irrelevance. Oh, it seemed positively unreal. A trip to Troia? Leonora did leave a vacancy; and did she not mention that Callisto would be her replacement? In any case, it was a reason to be relieved from this prison of duties, if only for a little while. Palom could handle a few weeks on his own, though administration would be messy. No, Porom could elect a stand-in for the weeks she would be gone. Someone had to keep Palom in line while she was away, didn't they?
The sigh trapped in her heart passed over her lips as she reclined in her chair. Guilt coiled around her throat. A trip to Troia. Could she truly afford to leave? Perhaps she should send her potential stand-in to train Lady Callisto instead. Yet, before Porom could pluck candidates from the far corners of her mind, the long haired Epopts, each a priestess devout to the Earth Crystal, danced across the hall of Porom's memories. Between their flowing, violet gowns and sweetly sung hymns, they were like an elegant group of elected queens. Give their regards to Leonora? That much she could do. Really, Leonora would be a better candidate even than Porom for the job. The young Lady Elder sat with twisted lips, her fingers poking at the thick chain that hung from her neck. A trip to Troia could wait. She would arrange for something else, at a later date. There were always reasons to leave Mysidia.
The guilt that squeezed her heart changed colors and grew thorns. It stung like a bright, green poison, bitter and stuffy. Well, it didn't sting for long; Porom swallowed the knot and took up her quill. Back to work, then.
Or not. Like the first, startling drop of a cool, spring rain, a familiar presence plopped into the vessel of her thoughts. That usual, crispy-stuffy smell of mint tickled her nostrils; the taste of a chipper warmth pranced over her tongue. Something different, something anxious, wove itself into the sensation. What was that weight on his mind? Quietly, she lifted her head and flashed a patient smile in way of her assistant. Some conversations demanded privacy, after all.
Iyas stood at the bookcase across the office, alphabetizing and sorting by relevance volumes which dealt directly with Mysidian politics and its history of governance. At least, that was what he was supposed to be doing. Currently, he was engaged in a careful reading of the impressive volume in his hands, at least half way through the six hundred pages (as far as Porom could tell). Judging by its silver lettering and emerald green cover, it was the seventh edition of Tales of the Mist, translated by Sir Milon of Eglo Belam. Reading stories on the job, were we?
Porom smiled small and stiff. Softly, she called, "Iyas?"
And, just like that, the book slipped out of his hands, and he flailed in a feeble, flustered attempt to catch it. Thud! He shuffled his hands behind his back, clearing his throat, straightening his posture, and ignoring the anvil of a tome that rested languidly on his foot. Ouch! His smile twitched a bit bigger. "L-Lady Elder."
"Are you alright, dear?" The young Lady Elder rose to her feet, the concern written plain on her face. "It's an awful heavy book."
"No need to worry, my lady," he said lightly, his brow furrowed, his smile pleading. "How may I be of assistance?"
The lengths to which he went to hide his pains! A charade of machismo, was it to be? She wanted to giggle for it, Iyas having been a whiner all his life, but she smiled privately instead, sparing him the embarrassment. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of tea? I could really use the pick me up. It's been a long day."
"Right away, Lady Elder." He flashed a tight, professional smile and placed the book discreetly on her desk. Quickly, then, he bowed and carried himself out, as though his life depended on this tiny cup of tea. With him, Formality, too, skipped out of the office, and Porom seated herself on the edge of the desk, letting her shoulders slouch.
The sound of footsteps recalled her attentions to the doorway. Not a moment later did Palom drag his sorry self into the office, shoulders sagging, scowl deeper than the usual, eyes purple-grey with concerns. Ah, her crispy, minty, little brother. Those tightly-sealed lips trembled with the troubles sewn secretly between them. Palom shuffled past Porom and dropped himself into her chair.
"Porom." He released a hefty sigh. His head lolled back. "Crisis."
"Lemme guess. This is about that whole mess with Mu'in and Teutas."
"No, I handled those assholes. Porom, have some kinda faith in me."
She chuckled and twitched her shoulders. Rising again, she drifted to the comfortable chair across the room for a better seat. As her bottom sank easily into the soft cushions, she decided, finally, that the day's toils were done. "So," she said, propping her chin in her palm, "what's this about, then?"
"It's… It's Leonora." He pinched the bridge of his nose. She could tell he hated that it bothered him. Granted, he hated talking about his feelings at all, and when it came to that woman, the sentiment was tripled. A silence passed. He groaned. "She invited me over to her house."
Because that was the end of the world, wasn't it? Porom snorted. "Wasn't that the dream, though?"
"Oh, shut up." Palom straightened his posture, his frown beginning to twist reluctantly. Truth be told, Porom had expected him to posit a sharper retort than this, or at least one more artful. This little quibble must really have gotten to him. "What… What does it mean?"
"Well, I don't know." Contrary to popular belief, women do not share a brain. Porom pulled a pair of thoughtful fingers through her pink ponytail. "When does she finish her training and go off to help the world?"
"Go off?"
"You know…" Or, well, he should have, just as any serious mentor should. The look on his face, narrow eyed and pale as a ghost, prompted the release of an exasperated sigh. "Like Tellah did. When does she finish her studies, Palom?"
"Well… She's got to learn Osmose." He looked to the papers littered across the desk. His lips pressed tighter. He swallowed. He drummed his fingers along the surface, as though this would render the secret in his heart inaudible.
Thump, thump, thump, went the secret. Porom took in a sharp inhale. Palom exhaled.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"So… why are you teaching her all this magical history? She understands how to do her own research." Porom propped her feet on the rest and reclined. Her fingers wove together, over her belly. Her eyes fell shut. Though she wished she could, she couldn't smile. "Maybe it means she's thinking about leaving soon. Maybe she wants to meet up to talk to you about it. If she does, tell her I would like to speak to her about that. They want me to train another Epopt. She'd be a better fit, I think."
Go to Troia? Leonora?
The question sat heavy at the base of her chest. He swallowed, his cheeks stiff, his teeth gritted behind closed lips. She could feel his thoughts meander around the question, investigating the upset it sprung. Once Leonora left, she would be gone for a long while again. They both knew it. The first time she had left was spontaneous. A sixteen year old girl doesn't just get up and leave for eight years unless she has no family. At twenty seven, this same girl, a woman grown, had no family in Mysidia. Just a mentor who had kept his distance and his sister who had watched them do this awkward dance of distance for two whole years.
It unsettled him that she would leave, but he knew her only distantly. She was a different person. Porom barely recognized her, excepting that shy smile and quiet voice. Then again, Porom had only ever known her distantly, too, and through Palom. Even as a young girl, Porom spent most of her time among towers and towers of books. Mysidia needed its prodigies in tip-top condition, after all, and while Palom could afford to spend time loafing about with Leah and catching crickets, Porom was compelled to spend hours immersed in her studies. One of them had to be remotely responsible, anyway.
Hesitation hung in the air, peskily persistent. He did not want to give a name to the warmth in his breast. It hurt too much and it made little sense. Porom sighed and glanced across the room. When their eyes met and their frowns matched, he knew she knew.
"I don't think so," he said slowly. "It'd be better if you went yourself. I just-I don't think she's ready. She still casts third level spells like a sniveling baby. She's too concerned about the enemy."
"Well, alright. You know your student better than I do." Though Porom could not see the relation between magical history and the building of resolve, her curiosities could be quelled another time. "Okay, look at it this way. You've been friends since long before this whole mentor-apprentice relationship. I always thought it was strange, the way you kept so resolute a distance between yourselves. I thought she worried about what Mysidia would say, you know? A single woman, living all by herself, seeing her mentor casually. She's in a vulnerable place."
"Sure, people already talk." He paused, but the look on his face was not displeased. A happier thought danced across his eyes before he finally shrugged. "But I don't think she's worried about that. She said she wanted to hang out. That we were old friends and that she would cook that pulses-chili that I liked when we were little. She wouldn't ask me to her house if she were afraid of her reputation. Either that or something's changed."
"Well, neither of us knows what's going on in her head, but all that sounds pretty friendly if you ask me. I really think she wants to reach out to you again."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He twitched his shoulders, frowned, and combed fingers through those thick bangs of his. Well, if he wanted to let the worry rot at his core, who was she to stop him?
"You'll be fine, Palom," insisted Porom.
He disliked that she could see his wriggling heart so clearly. That was the upside-downside of having a twin, after all. He sniffed, pretending indifference. "Yeah, I will be. She's just another mage at the Hall of Prayers." Quietly, he picked up the thick volume that Iyas had left on her desk. "So, reading fairy tales on the job?"
"Iyas was. Diligent fellow, isn't he?"
"Everyone says he's got a soft spot for you. Maybe it's nerves." He rose to his feet, tucking the pretty tome under his arm. "I guess I should get going, then. And so should you, okay?
She smiled and curled up in her chair, letting her eyes fall shut. "Soon. Iyas is bringing tea first. Tell me how it goes."
"You can count on it."
He shuffled out, and though her eyes fluttered shut a time more, she knew he must be smiling to himself. However, the silence that followed him did not linger long. Did it ever? Bayan stepped into the doorway, knocking the open door in askance. When there was only a yawn in reply, the young woman called, "Porom?"
Porom gestured her to come inside, not opening her eyes. "Something on your mind?"
The fragrance of flowers wafted into the room. Hibiscus, to be precise; she must have adorned her raven-black hair with blue hibiscus earlier today. Her footsteps were soft as they carried her inside, but they lagged in the slightest, telling of a long, toilsome day. Likewise, sister. There was a hint of another flower, perhaps a kind of lily, that clung to her scent. The pockets of Bayan's white mage robes were always filled with some of the finest specimens of flora. Lilies, Porom guessed, tonight, and particularly sweet smelling ones.
"I'm just worried about my mama." Bayan perched herself on the arm of Porom's chair. "She's been writing to Esmour every day of the week for two months, but she hasn't gotten a response yet. She's worried he's sick or something. Last he went to Baron, he was prompt to reply."
"But he's in Troia now, and to become a fine potions master no less." Porom sat up, but a yawn pried itself out from her lips. "I'm sure he'll write back eventually. Troia is across the seas. It could take months for him to get any one of those letters."
"I don't know, Porom. Before he left, he was acting strange." Bayan rose to her feet and approached the desk. Her finger followed the grooves in the edges, marveling at the old woodwork, as if her story had been told in it. The coin-sized blossoms at the margins of the desk smiled up at Bayan. "Sad, you know? But he wouldn't tell me what it was. Kept saying I was just imagining things. Which, well… I suppose I could be. But he hasn't written back or sent a page."
Bayan had been like this since she was nine years old. Porom remembered. After the siege of the Red Wings, the children of Mysidia realized that anything could happen in a day. It was best to be prepared for the unexpected. Some locked themselves in a world of books. Others watched people closely and analyzed every gesture, every choice of word, without exception.
Porom hopped to her feet and stretched her arms. Another yawn stole away from her. "You know what? I might be going to Troia soon. At least, I'm supposed to be. I don't think I can arrange for it this year, but we need to maintain good relations with the Epopts. I could send you."
"M-Me?" Bayan whirled around, terror gathering creases in her brow and pulling open her eyes. "Definitely not! I only just learned Cura! I'm not a big shot prodigy like some people."
"I… thought you were further along than that." Most people in the Hall of Prayers were, and Bayan was a woman of twenty nine years. Odd. Guilt clenched Porom's heart like an iron fist. Good friends paid attention to details as significant as that. Then again, Porom had never exactly bothered to ask, had she? The shame rose to her cheeks in faint blotches. Ah-before a silence could pass between them, she cleared her throat. "Then, how about this? When I find someone to go, I will ask them to look for him. They will then send you a letter or else bring you one from him. It won't get to you faster, but you'll at least know something is being done about it, right?"
Bayan's dark eyes probed Porom's blue ones. Young Lady Elder smiled weakly.
"Why aren't you going to Troia, Porom?" asked Bayan. "Don't you want to go to Troia? You've always enjoyed yourself there."
It wasn't a pleasure cruise, but Porom could admit she had made some favorable memories at the Castle. A warrior with a lance and fiery, amber eyes smiled from the distant land of Porom's memories. The gentle song of a harp played on the strings of Porom's soul. Epopt Metis reached a hand out to her, welcoming and warm.
"I've too much work here," said Porom simply. Her anxious hand went to the pendant hanging from her neck. It shone emerald in the twilight, a sister to the ruby red hanging around Palom's. "There are many mages who could go in my stead. I can't just go between nations willy nilly like I used to. I'm not a student anymore, you know? I'm an Elder of Mysidia, too."
Bayan didn't like that answer. Her dark brown lips pursed and her lovely, large eyes squinted. She approached Porom and poked her shoulder. "And as Elder, it would be best if you went. Both of us know this. You would only be gone for a few weeks! Two months at the most, yes? Or three, who knows. But you assign someone else. There are two elders, remember? There's no rule saying we need both of you here all the time. It would be smarter if you took advantage of that, and yet you don't. You resign yourself to the notion that it is impossible. Why do you do this to yourself, Porom?"
Porom's breath hitched. She could see the freckles scattered across Bayan's soft, round cheeks. Her eyes traced the lines in Bayan's thick, black eyebrows. She followed the rise and fall of Bayan's chest with each breath. You know I'm right, you know I'm right, you know I'm right. It was like looking at the radiant Sun with unveiled eyes. The smell of hibiscus hung thick in the silence.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Porom lied. Though her smile endured and the gentleness in her voice persisted, her hand clenched the pendant in a fist. "I am duty-bound. But I promise, on my honor, that I will have Esmour found. I promise you, Bayan."
"I appreciate your reassurance, Porom, but I would feel more comfortable if you went. Besides, don't you want to go? You can do anything you want if you put your mind to it!"
Porom smiled patiently. "Just because I want to go somewhere doesn't mean I ought to go. Bayan, my friend, you are unfamiliar with the ways of this office, so I pray that you will not take my promise lightly. I will send someone more capable than myself to fetch Esmour. She's a Sage in the making, even."
Those eyes, they plunged into Porom's soul like a pair of probing, cosmic swords. Bayan would not be satisfied without a thorough assessment. Porom held her gaze. She hoped Bayan would not see the regret sitting like a pile of stones at the base of her stomach. Years ago, nothing could get past those eagle eyes of hers. They were study partners back then, each little girls with curls in their hair. Perhaps the gods had given her those lovely eyes specifically for this purpose.
Or perhaps Bayan had come to realize her intimidation tactics could only go so far, and that one could become immune to them should they be abused, for she merely sighed and stepped back, acknowledging her defeat. Everyone in Mysidia knew that Lady Elder's will was forged of steel. Just then, Iyas trickled into the office, setting a tea tray on Porom's desk.
"Thank you, Lady Elder," came Bayan's sour reply. "I am in your gratitude."
