Every Little Memory

Entry #41: Thistle

This part of Crimson Hold is one I have never seen. It appears as some form of meeting room for those employed at the keep. Not to large, but not too small; the perfect place for the more superior residents of Talyyn to convene with their leader. Obsidian black tiles streaked with thin white lines cover the floor, reflecting light from the dangling silver chandelier. The walls are a rich blood red, lined with sconces bearing burning candles.

A dark, elegant wooden table rests near the rear of the room with empty cushioned chairs pushed in neatly beside the table. A taller, more regal chair rests a few feet away; not too far so that one cannot be heard from it, but not too close either. It resembles a kinglike throne, though perhaps not as large or grand. Simply a place for the leader to distinguish himself amongst his colleagues and to guide the discussion. Being of the lower class myself, I get an odd feeling that I do not belong here. That this is a place for people more important than I to gather, not for the common folk. It is quite the sight though, so I relish it. Rory would have a field day in this place.

Something catches my eye: an object lying to the left of the throne. From my perspective, it looks like a mirror. At first I find it strange that such an object is in a room such as this, as it seems designed for someone’s bedchamber. It is circular, with a very unique design. The frame of the mirror has pointed edges, like the rays of the sun found in children’s drawings, only a bit more detailed and mature. The whole frame is black with red and lime green lines that swirl around the edges. What’s most unusual about this object is that it is floating.

The mirror hovers a bit over the ground at eye level. I cannot see anything manipulating it or anyone holding it up. It is lifted by some unseen force, gently bobbing up and down above the floor. Otherwise, it functions as a regular mirror. The glass perfectly reflects the room behind me. Inside it, I notice Kain pacing back and forth.

I swivel around to stare at him, watching him reach one end of the room, mutter something, then turn around and walk in the other direction. He is still dressed in his formal clothes from the gathering, which indicates that this memory occurred not to long after. There is uncertainty in his eyes, as if he is struggling with some inner turmoil.

A loud squeak echoes within the chamber, which causes Kain to pause in his tracks. One of the double doors leading into the room has opened, followed by Iza gliding in, holding a wine glass and a plate with a slice of bread in her hands. A late night snack, perhaps? Kain shakes his head and continues pacing, saying nothing to his second. The dragon simply shuts the door behind her and stands there with much patience, keeping her eyes trained on him. It’s as if she is anticipating him to do something.

And within moments, he does. He stops once more, seeming to stare off into space, and says, “Do my people…doubt me, Iza?”

“Only if you give them a reason to,” she responds in her typical monotone.

He turns on his heel to look at his second. “Have I given them a reason to? Do they see me as someone who is unfit to lead them?”

“Do you wish to hear my opinion or the general views of the populace?”

“Either one will suffice.”

“Very well. Considering that there have been multiple attempts on your life within the course of a month, one would conclude that the populace is against you.” Multiple attempts? Then the one that happened with Kaiya and the serpent man was one of many? Perhaps the people of Talyyn do consider him unfit. Or it could be greedy nobles who want his power for their own.

A sigh escapes his lips as his rubs his temples, perhaps trying to fight off a headache. “Has it really been that many?”

“Well, there was that time at the Blood Moon Festival,” Iza begins, using her fingers to count off each one she lists. “Then there was the council meeting in Nocturnal. Oh, and let us not forget this evening.”