The violet torch flickered against the balcony's black stone, its light stretching their shadows across the floor like crooked, living things.
For a time, only the distant sound of feasting filled the silence between the two women.
Then Lena's golden eyes narrowed as if a thought had just struck her, recalling Zerathia's words.
Her voice slipped through the quiet, sharp and sudden.
"…This little friend of yours," she said carefully, "is it the human he spoke of? The one he asked you to help?"
Zarethia didn't answer.
Instead, she turned her head, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
"Lena," she murmured, violet eyes gleaming with playful reproach, "you're speaking all proper again. 'Lady Zarethia' this, 'Mistress' that. Didn't I tell you not to bother with titles—at least when we're alone?"
Lena's eyes narrowed, as if surveying the surroundings. For a moment, she said nothing, then released a quiet sigh.
