Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Fifty Four: Bad Feelings

Jeorge had never wanted to be on the expedition going south, but being left behind also wasn't the most pleasant of feelings. The first light of day was just breaking on the horizon, and the castle courtyard was a flurry of activity as the party got ready to leave. Harkenn had supplied most of the food and equipment, and servants were ferrying it out to the waiting wagons in a relentless stream, as Unspoken arrived in dribs and drabs carrying their own luggage to add to the growing piles.

"Nerahardt." Harkenn's face was ghastly pale in the dawn light, though it was less sickly than it had been for weeks. Whatever freakish heritage had given him his burning eyes had also gifted his whole line with an unnatural, almost mask-like paleness of complexion, and in the washed-out light he looked like he belonged in Nictaven about as much as the Caelumese did.

Jeorge suppressed a sigh, and walked over to join the man he would be catering to exclusively for the next few months. "My lord?"

"Have you consulted with Nika?"

"I have." It had been a tense but polite discussion. Jeorge's head had been throbbing like hammer blows and he suspected his reticence was part of the reason Nika had left so frustrated, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that. He could barely squeeze a coherent thought between the walls of pain and noise in his head, let alone read the nuances of a very early pregnancy. "We cannot be absolutely certain from astral symptoms, but her physical symptoms have led us to believe that conception is quite likely."

His eyes found Grace Haverford in the crowd. She looked excited, bright-eyed, talking with enthusiasm to one of the Unspoken. It didn't appear that her brother had arrived yet.

Harkenn was also watching the girl, a thoughtful look on his face. "I would keep her here if Yddris hadn't brought me such alarming news last night."

Jeorge frowned. This was the first he was hearing of any news. But Harkenn seemed uninclined to elaborate, and it wasn't long before the Unspoken Guildmaster called his attention away.

The sun continued to climb, throwing long fingers of chilly pale light across the courtyard cobbles. No one paid much attention to Jeorge, which suited him just fine; in the open air, away from other people, his head felt fractionally better and cleared some of the stupefying fatigue from his body, but it still flared sharply whenever an Unspoken approached. There were four large wagons lined up in the yard, all steadily filling with supplies, stragglers from the party still arriving through the gatehouse.

Anara was not looking as if the prospect of imminent departure had cheered her any. Her face still had the darkening quality of a brewing thunderhead when she joined him in his spot near the wall.

"Are you sure?" she hissed.

"No," Jeorge replied irritably. "And neither is Nika. But her physical symptoms are getting worse, not better, and Harkenn seems to know something that's made him rather eager to get her out of the way. There's no point looking at me like it's my fault. I'm just the messenger."

He felt a little guilty for his sharp tone when she sagged, hopelessness flashing across her aura before she could control it. "So she's probably pregnant."

"I do sympathise..."

"I don't want your sympathy," she sneered, eyes flashing with rage. "I don't want anything from anyone. Least of all you."

"You do insist on inflicting me on yourself," Jeorge snapped, bristling. He was in too much pain to be dealing with this, and the last thing he'd wanted was to be left alone with Harkenn for months. "If I'm such a nightmare, why do you keep talking to me? It's really not necessary, you know."

She drew up short. "Would you rather I didn't?"

"I didn't say that." He sniffed. "I would rather not have my head bitten off for merely existing, mind, if it's all the same to you."