Sometimes a scene must be shared

Mortals were predictable after thousands of years watching them.

“High Messenger, is there something that you need?” the king finally glanced up from his reading to stare blankly at Nycon, his posture equally stiff, his courtesy forced.

“For you to take responsibility for your actions,” Nycon suggested with a slow smile that did not reach his eyes. “As unlikely though that may be.”

The human’s eyes narrowed, and Nycon shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I am here to ask you what you are planning to do with what your son has sent you,” he changed the subject, though his terminology caused the king’s jaw to tighten.

“The Commander,” he corrected not so subtly, glancing back down at the parchment in front of him, “has said that Allan remains within the bounds of the treaty at all times. They ventured to the desert, where the Commander ran into your supposed savior.”

“Appointed and supposed are two incredibly different things,” Shainaka interrupted.

Faran’s lips were ghosted with a smile, the first Nycon had seen from them in years.

“That’s right,” he nodded in agreement. “The Messengers lied at the council, pure servants of the Guardian that they are.”

Nycon chuckled.

“I know it is a foreign concept to you, Faran, protecting those you are supposed to protect,” he drawled absently. “But sometimes, doing your duty involves breaking a few rules in order to fulfill it.”

Faran tilted his head back to the parchment.

“So Kanaray has found nothing for months,” Nycon summed up lightly. “Call him back.”

“No,” Faran shook his head. “The Commander needs to stay where he is, should they grow to trust him.”

“For the free nations, or for you?” Nycon challenged.

Faran looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What is it you are here for, High Messenger?” he demanded. “What is your purpose in lingering in this room?”

Nycon leaned away from the column, rolling his shoulders.

“Anden’s burning was never part of your motivation to send your first born to his death,” the High Messenger said quietly, a rumble of anger sparking across the words, electrifying them. “You are playing with fire, Faran. I thought that you would have learned long ago it will burn you.”

“You and your riddles,” Faran snorted, dismissing him by glancing back down at the table.

“Riddles they may be, but I was right about his mother, wasn’t I?” Shainaka pressed, half hooding his eyes. “It played out just as I said, and now where is she?”