Missoni (prime)/Echoed Whispers

The door of the small townhouse clicked softly behind her, shutting out the dawn’s red light, and she stood in the parlor for a moment. The floor seemed to move subtly beneath her, as though she were still on the wave-tossed sloop. The salt-laden scent of Solhaven Bay lingered in her hair and on her clothes. Neither could compare to the bitter taste of failure in her mouth. First Kasendra, then Sayilla.

Missoni turned to her dog, who stood stoically by the door. The canine released a viridian eye from its jaws, and she called it back with a flick of her hand. It had found nothing save battered krolvin ships and rowdy pirates. She shucked off her fur mantle and hung it next to the door. The Vornavian silk pompes she had worn less than a week ago at the farewell ball still rested in the entryway. In the sudden quiet of the house, absent the sound of the wind and waves, absent the sound of her own voice shouting hoarsely for Sayilla, she once again heard Kasendra’s whisper:

“Were we really in that much danger here.”

Kasendra had laughed. She had said Missoni had misunderstood, and that Kasendra had meant the danger was from the rogue summoners. They had laughed again about the misunderstanding. Then Kasendra had danced, and then—Missoni shook her head to clear the image she had seen of the woman’s body, an image she had continued to replay in the intervening days. But now the whispered words continued to echo, and Missoni could not ignore the feeling that Kasendra had known something was wrong not in the Wraithenmist, but in the Illistimi Court itself. And now, what of the Vornavian court? Her thoughts went to the safety of the Baron, to Salnim, and to Athalia.

Missoni poured herself a cup of coffee and slumped into the pile of floor pillows in the parlor, letting the beverage warm her stiff fingers. She watched the steam rise. She watched the wispy plume until the coffee grew cold, an unctuous sheen on its dark surface. She never took a drink.