The Night Rider

Chapter 12 - Silvertongue

Nivara hated lying.

She despised it with all of her being. Constantly taking day after day of Silvertongue potion just to stop herself from treading on eggshells she'd dare not break. If Ethros ever found out she'd deceived not just him, but everyone in the Excelliars they'd do more than kill her. They'd make her wish she'd never been born.

Nivara ran her hands through her partially wet hair, undone from its braid and rested her head on the desk. It was still late at night yet here she was unable to sleep thanks to the rush of questions plaguing her mind. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shirt, uncrossed her bare legs and planted them on the smooth, silvery stone before returning to her report. If sleep wouldn't come she'd just have to keep herself occupied until it did.

"Appearances are everything." Nivara said, repeating a small line of the motto all Excelliars strived to achieve.

Nivara eyes drifted towards the quill that she had been given when she joined the Excelliars sat idly by, in pristine shape but never used. Summoning her grimoire with a simple thought, it emerged in front of her on the desk as if it had never left. She smiled briefly, running her hand across the spine where blues ebbed and flowed into a deep indigo before being immersed by it entirely and slammed open the white, empty pages. Nothing could change. Not yet.

With a sad sigh, Nivara pricked her finger against the sharp corner and allowed the small bead of reddish blue blood to fall, marking the page as her own before she finally began to write. The words came at a blistering pace, everything she had learnt up to now lead out in a mess of notes and unbroken paragraphs, some leading seamlessly into the next but all arose the same unreachable question.

What was this all for?

There were too many unknown variables, too many half truths and missing pieces to figure out the mysteries. Especially the appearances of these Abnormal grimoires had conjured up within this hell forsaken world. She mostly knew who and what but why? Why go through all this effort with such an unreachable goal? An unknowable question plagued her mind as she bit her lip, resting her head back against the silky material of her cloak.

"The Mist Maidens?" she questioned, leaning forward to write down any more theories she could think of.

A growl echoed around the small room nearest the entrance, shrouded in a layer of impenetrable Trait. It protected more than a few secrets and prevented any eavesdroppers in case those who scuttled past her door thought it a good idea to listen in on her. There was only one spy allowed in the Opalace and that vacancy had already been filled. By her Oathed.

An emerald green dragon no bigger than a plant pot clung to the edge of her windowsill, the window open barely ajar as the slow plodding raindrops continued to drift down the glass, the storm reaching its last, drawn out stage of execution.

"I can't believe you made me keep watch on that blundering idiot while you slunk away nice and dry in here! Do you know how hard it is to get soil out from under my scales?"

Nivara sighed, ignoring the self centred Talonslash for a moment as she tried to think of the next sentence for her report. The ink flitted lazily from side to side, following the traces of her movements just a few inches above the page. Despite her colleagues knowledge of only being able to use her Trait as mist, the versatility of Water Traited never ceased to amaze her.

"I take it the rain helped, then?" She said at last, finishing the page with a quick flick of her wrist.

The dragon laughed halfheartedly rolling her eyes before shaking her scales free of water right near the Mist Maiden before gliding right onto the edge of her chair. Nivara froze the spray in midair, her hand splayed open as she lazily flung them back at her sabotaging partner. The Talonslash hissed angrily, unable to dodge being soaked again.