“Out of our hands”
Her legs were crossed as a small plate of wild, brown mushrooms and Pomegranate seeds sat cradled in her lap. A thigh high boot bounced rhythmically up and down. Her left arm was propped up on the armrest of her throne, while holding a cup of Swurmah in her hand, a sweet wine made by Twellers from the roots of large trees that grew in the neighboring forest of Twells. The drink boasted an alcohol content that would literally prove fatal to mortals, even in small amounts.
The wine was required to ferment for eighty years and had a bittersweet taste, followed by a foul aftertaste. It was to be enjoyed with wild mushrooms and pomegranates. No one partook in the strong drink alone. Those that did, were said to be seeking escape from 'ghosts haunting from the past.' The way she was indulging in drink, whatever her ghosts were, they seemed to be many. Her eyes were cast down to her left as she carefully brought the jewel encrusted cup to her wonderful, full, bowed lips. Her fingers were stained from the juices of the seeds, appearing as blood. Beholding her fingers and hands, she reached into the plate with her right hand, bringing a mushroom to her lips.
With each small chew, her eyes slowly rolled to the right as her head followed, coming to rest in a tilt. Maybe she was watching the many ghosts that danced and swayed in her midst or quietly observing the silhouette of words left behind by Miriam.
Manthra had issued his directive, curiously missing was any mention of Twellers. Maybe it was strategy?! But she was sure it wasn't an oversight.
What should they expect next? How do you plan to contend with a foe more powerful than anything you've ever encountered?
Her eyes were brought to the entrance at the sound of someone making their way down to the Center. It was Marlon. Silently standing before her as she offered her cup to him. A sign of mutual respect amongst the warriors of Twells. After taking a small drink, he sat down Indian style in front of her as she placed her plate of wild mushrooms and pomegranates in his hand.
He observed her mood. She appeared befuddled more than tipsy. He watched as she rather lewdly cleaned the juices from the pomegranates from between her fingernails with her teeth.
They knew each other all too well, not only as former lovers, but as a captain whose chief concern had always been the safety of his queen. Because of the Talek, he could sense, that there had been a slow gathering tide of emotions. At the same time, his eyes appeared to be struggling as well. Willing to expose one fear, in order to conceal a greater one. As with old lovers, this would be a dance. A dance to find a rhythm, to sway her away from the perilous cliff he found her dangling upon.
"What now?" he mumbled in between bites of mushrooms. The fingertips of her hands were resting at her mouth, pointing upwards like the rafters of a tall church roof. She exhaled loudly. "We wait! It's out of our hands."
Marlon's face was buried in the plate. “Do you suppose he has not been made aware to our presence?"
The corners of her mouth were flat. "He's a Warrior Priest. He's well aware of our presences, now more than ever."
"Were you able to learn anything else about him?"
The queen shook her head slowly.
"Nope!” she quipped. “All anyone seems to know for sure is that he's the assassin who killed my mother."
Marlon's head was tilted to one side as a question formed on his lips. "Why do you suppose he's singled out the Krethans?"
She quickly shrugged her shoulders. "Bad blood, I suppose. Maybe somewhere in his past their paths crossed, creating enmity between the two. Or maybe it's pure strategy. Take out the strongest of the Stellars in terms of numbers, first."
