Author's Note: I don't really have an excuse for not posting last week. I was just lazy. So here is an extra - long chapter to make up for it.
Halfway down the stair, she paused. Someone was talking. It was very, very quiet, so quiet that she hadn't noticed it until she had unconsciously begun to sneak in the darkness of the stairwell, and the sounds of her footsteps and breaths disappeared.
She didn't know who was talking. She didn't know what language they were speaking. She didn't know what they were saying, or where they were, but the murmur of people conversing is distinct, even when it is so quiet that Snow was unsure if she was actually hearing it, or if it was only in her imagination.
It didn't get louder. Whoever was speaking – assuming someone was – was not getting closer. Snow slowly continued down the stairs, and realized suddenly, that the voices were coming from behind the locked door. Nothing else could explain the gradual but noticeable rise in volume.
A beat later, and the impact of that conclusion hit her. If someone was talking behind the door, then there were people behind there. But if that was so, then it had been people when Snow had first listened at the door. These people could hold so perfectly still that not even their breaths made a sound, could hide the beat of their hearts, and did so at the slightest hint of company.
Snow slipped down the last few stairs, willing herself to be as light and graceful as a feather, willing her feet to make no sound.
It seemed to have worked, there was no pause in the murmur behind the door, but her approach boosted its volume enough that Snow was certain now that she was not imagining it.
She leaned back against the hard stones of the door, listening to the back and forth. Though she had already determined she could not speak the language, she thought she might be able to recognize it. Many dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms had visited the castle over the years, and though she never stayed in their presence for long – everyone preferred it that way – She felt like she had a reasonable feel for the rhythms of most of their languages.
Unfortunately, this one was evading her. Either she didn't know the languages as well as she had thought, or this was not a language she had ever heard.
After listening for a while longer, she decided it was the latter.
It was subtle, barely there, slipping into phrases without warning, and disappearing just as quickly, but there was something about the language they were using that felt; Old. Deep. Powerful. Not old the way that a crumbling shack is, but old the way a great, strong gnarled oak is old. Deep not like a well in the desert that provides lifegiving water, but deep like the ocean is, cold and uncaring. Powerful not like a king which power is granted by those who follow him, but powerful like poetry or magic is powerful – words alone that bend men and nature to their will.
It was both alluring and frightening at once. Who could these people be? Where were they from? And what were they doing here? On second thought, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what they were doing here.
But she still wanted to talk to them. If only they would talk to her. How to convince them?
Maybe if she learned their language that would help? Of course, she didn't have a translator. But she knew that most of conversation was repetitive – the same words, phrases, and ideas mashed up into different orders. If she could just listen for repetitions, she might get somewhere.
She didn't get anywhere. The whole endeavor was turning out to be far more difficult than she thought it would be. After quite a lot of concentrated effort, she still hadn't caught anything.
Like all conversations do, the one behind the door paused. Without really processing the idea, Snow repeated aloud – though very softly – the phrase that had just been said.
Or at least – Snow assumed it was a phrase. She just copied the sounds.
The conversation did not resume. In fact, the silence seemed deafening after the near constant whispers ceased.
Snow was already regretting her decision, but she was committed now, so she tried again, repeating the meaningless syllables as accurately as she could.
Still nothing. "What does it mean?" She tried to sound calm, mildly interested, and completely unthreatening. More silence.
After several moments more of listening to the kind of silence that presses on the eardrums, Snow decided she wasn't going to get anywhere, and if she was making these kinds of decisions, it was time to go to bed.
Annoyed, though more with herself than the people behind the door, she did just that.