The Stormcrow Cycle [Slow-burn Slice-of-Life Tragic Fantasy Romance]

Chapter Forty-nine: Strategic Listening

Finally! An update! I actually did not even realize it had been nearly 2 months or so since the last real chapter until I started posting this one. Wow. Time really does fly. O_O

Thank you all for your patience, and sorry for the delay. My wrist and palm are now fully healed (now with nifty and itchy scar), and I was obliged to take care of RL work that had piled up before finishing up TSC (and as stated before, I am doing a whole whack of rewrites, so it's been a bit slow, lol).

Glossary:

Khamaimelon: This is Greek for chamomile. =)

I'm trying out something a bit new with the foreign/con-lang terms in this chapter. I've refrained from italicizing them to highlight their foreignness, just to see if this increases readability. Please let me know what you prefer in terms of your reading experience! If this is, in fact, better, I'll make a note to make this change for all of TSC for the next Big Edit. Thanks! =)

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Ba'an sat on her bed, listening.

Nene and Calloe were chattering as they organized Ba'an's gifts for their intended recipients as Dita directed them, but it was not toward their banter that her attention was bent, no; Ba'an was listening to souls.

Lukios' soul—and Gaios'.

Their second dinner had been bread with slices of meat and cheese, purchased from the night market by Dita and Uchos. The girl had been stiff-lipped, but the length of time it had taken her to return made Ba'an suspect the journey had not been altogether pleasant.

Ba'an ought to have cared more about Dita's distress—but she didn't. She had other concerns, and she had only managed a single slice of bread before setting the meal aside, covered with a clean square of cloth. Lukios would need something, too, once he was done.

He was displeased. She could feel it—there was an angry little jangle in the music of his soul, jagged and inharmonious in a way that was immediately obvious. On top of that, he was pacing: she felt his soul moving back and forth, back and forth, in a tight little line, and she knew he must be gesticulating angrily at his audience.

This was expected. As long as he was only angry and not alarmed, Ba'an would hold her peace. But if the situation shifted—if she sensed the guards at the walls around him moving to him—

She would have no choice but to act. Ba'an would not allow Lukios to be arrested and taken to an outlander gaol. Such places were filthy and barbaric, and she knew that those who stepped into one rarely stepped out again.

No, she would not permit this to happen. If the guards moved to arrest him, Ba'an would have to kill them.

Ba'an did not have her coat, this was true. But she did not need her coat to kill, and the estate was a bountiful cornucopia of souls.

Many, many souls, all pulsing and singing, all bursting with the stuff of life: magic.

Magic and souls. Beautiful, delicious souls.

Suddenly and without intention, her mouth flooded with saliva.

Ba'an bit down on her knuckle, wrestling her sudden hunger down. No.

Not for hunger. No.

Only if she had to. Only for Lukios.

"Oh, this is so pretty, kyria!" Calloe held out a pot-within-a-pot. "The patterns are so unusual! Don't you think so, Nene?"

Ba'an blinked, attention momentarily diverted from the tense drama playing out in the office below.

"Oh, yes!" Nene nodded. "They're very...uh...very...unique! The patterns, I mean." Nene's smile was warm and reassuring. They had been doing this all evening—smiling and complimenting her and everything she had, presumably to distract her from her worries.