Serellia (Everlasting Legends, Book 2)

Ch. 31 - Gossip and Unwritten Warnings

Ardaik 18th, Homenil

Artus couldn't eat. The plate in front of him sat completely untouched, exactly as it had been when Zassir had brought it into the dining room for him, although by now it had long since grown cold. The relic sat next to the plate, and Artus lightly rolled it around on the table's surface with his fingers.

"You should eat..." Artus mumbled to himself, echoing Zassir's words, minus the formalities. There was no longer any question of whether or not he was a mage. His powers were dangerous. He knew he'd made the right decision in staying in Homenil to continue training, rather than fleeing with Rowan. But in doing so, he was forced once again to wait in agony over reception of word that Rowan was somewhere safe, which was nearly more than Artus could bear.

Being parted from Flann hadn't yet diluted his feelings for the Serellian either; at least not in the way Artus had thought, or partially even hoped, it would have. He missed him more than ever. Even if they were never to embrace intimately again, Artus simply ached to be near his friend...in the company of someone he wanted to believe truly cared about him without the expectation of anything in return.

Lasrian announced his presence with a brief vocalization that startled the prince out of his cloud of dramatic musings.

"Hello," Artus greeted, without thinking. It wasn't as though the bird could reply back. "...I don't have another button to spare, I'm afraid," he added, as he watched the bird take flight for only a moment, to spring from the floor to the table. For being as advanced in age as he was, Lord Cullach's bird didn't seem at all hobbled.

In his beak, Lasrian held a bit of thick, rough string that'd been dyed a deep, vibrant hue. He appeared to be quite proud of it until one of his beady red eyes landed on the relic.

The white crow set down his piece of twine and eyed the rock beneath Artus's fingers with curiosity; tilting his head from one side to the other to better observe it.

"You don't want this," Artus reassured, reaching down to retrieve the pouch he'd been keeping the relic in, affixed to a belt he'd acquired. Serellian garments were largely without pockets. "Trust that I wouldn't pawn it off on my worst enemy after what it's cost me."

Lasrian moved closer.

"Would you like some of my dinner?" Artus plucked a small chunk of potato off his plate and set it infront of the white corvid. "It's cold, but I'm sure it's still palatable."

After a peck or two, Lasrian seemed to have decided that he didn't want to consume Artus's offering, but instead made an attempt to return it to the prince's plate.

"I don't have anything else."

The bird continued to stare for a moment. Then, a flurry of wings filled Artus's vision, and he shut his eyes tightly, raising his arms in an attempt to protect his face as he yelped in surprise.

The incident was over in an instant, however, and had resulted in Lasrian roosting on Artus's shoulder.

Artus held perfectly still, eyes darting around the dining room, in which he still found himself completely alone. "Um..." There was no one to aid him or tell him what he should do. Not even a guard or servant.

After some time, the tension in Artus's shoulders had finally somewhat relaxed, and Lasrian took a few steps closer to his ear, then seemed content to settle himself there. The old crow was rather warm, and the sturdy lining and fur of Artus's caplet kept Lasrian's claws from poking him uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Artus picked up his fork, and began eating. His meal wasn't very enjoyable cold. The meat had become quite tough, and the gravy over it had thickened considerably, but he didn't have the desire to seek out any of the kitchen staff to reheat it. It was his own fault it was in the state it was in, as was the case with many things as of late. Gelatinous gravy was the least of his concerns.