Veylira had been in her office since dawn.
The first light of the day had long since passed through the tall crystal-paned windows, painting the room in hues of gold, then fading into the cool silver of late afternoon.
Now, warm amber candlelight flickered along the inky surface of the desk, casting her features in a soft, deceptive calm.
The room itself was silent, save for the occasional rustle of parchment or the faint hiss of enchanted ink drying.
Two letters lay unopened on the far corner of her desk. Their edges were fraying now, from how often she moved them—tapping one against the other, shifting them to the corner and then back again.
She hadn't even bothered to break the seals. She knew who they were from.
Lucindra.
The first letter had burned in her hand. The second and third remained, untouched, like vipers coiled and waiting.
Veylira exhaled slowly, deeply, leaning back in her chair. She pressed her fingertips against her brow.
