"I wish to see mother, is she in?" Troan softly inquired, looking back at the door.
Virgo turned back to him, appearing slightly paler than she naturally was. Though, there was now a hint of pride in her eyes.
"Yes."
She lowered her blade. "Though, I would not disturb her at the moment."
Troan expression became queer.
"Is she not decent?"
"No, that's not it." She quickly dismissed the thought forming in Troan's head.
"She just hasn't been herself since Vitrus' funeral." She said, matter-of-factly.
Though Troan noticed a hint of worry in her eyes when he glanced back.
He let out a small sigh.
"It doesn't matter. I will see her now." He said and reached for the doorknob.
For a moment Troan believed he would be stopped. However, Virgo did nothing.
She simply watched.
Troan took a deep breath, and then, with one quick motion, he pushed the door open slightly. The action was immediately followed by the sound of things dropping to the floor.
He waited a moment to allow his eyes adjust to the lighting in the room, and then he peeked in.
It was a modest chamber not much spacious than the one he woke up in.
Light streamed in through the open balcony ahead, and to the right was a bed on which rays of sunlight landed, coming through the window on the wall beside it.
There was a dresser to the left of the bed toward him, and then a door leading to a bathroom to his right.
A portrait hung on the wall over the bed, it was a painting of the snow-capped Mount Avalon in all its glory, and on the dresser stood a smaller framed portrait of a younger Troan.
Finally to his left was a plain, wooden wardrobe of varnished wood.
There were no flower pots, little to no regal artworks, or superfluous ornaments typically found in the chamber of a queen from a powerful kingdom.
Apart from the ritual circle drawn on the floor of the chamber with what seemed like blood, the red candles all around it, and the odd wooden puppets lying around... It was a fairly normal chamber.
The ritual circle was a complex work of witchcraft surrounded by seven red candles, and inscribed on it were dizzying words written in Kadi'an.
Upon the circle itself laid a wooden puppet the size of a pitcher. A lit candle lying beside it had slowly begun to set its odd, pointed nose aflame.
On the dresser was a similar puppet with a round, doorknob-like nose, lying precariously close to the edge. Its ball and socket jointed leg dangled off the edge.
The last puppet with a cube-like nose sat on the floor resting on the foot of the dresser, and before it laid an open black book with black pages.
He sighed in relief and walked in, before shutting the door gently.
Troan slowly strolled into the chamber, counting his steps as his eyes surveyed the room.
'Where is she?" He wondered, glancing to the right, at the door that led into the bathroom.
But soon, he came to a stop before the slow-burning puppet, a thin stream of smoke rising up from its nose.
An acrid, burnt smell had begun to fill the chamber.
Troan looked down at its beaded eyes, staring up at him with what seemed like scorn, or maybe it was just the way its mouth was carved, curled slightly up a side of its woody visage.
The look displeased him greatly for some reason and he frowned.
Suddenly, he drew his left leg back, but just as he was about to kick the doll away, the thick blanket stirred and a woman sat up like an undead rising from the grave.
However, this didn't stop his kick.
Wack!
The puppet went sailing over her and out the window.
The woman blinked languidly, eyes slightly widening in disbelief at what had just happened.
Then she turned to Troan.
"Was that one of my familiar—"
"I did not appreciate the way it looked at me," Troan interjected, looking away with a miffed expression.
"Oh." She muttered absently.
Sauraia then shifted, listlessly moving to the bedside to plant her delicate feet on the floor.
She yawned and stretched.
Her azure satin nightwear, consisting of a loose shirt and baggy pants that tapered at the ankles, made her look younger than she was.
She gently rubbed her eyes before turning her gaze toward him.
"You didn't knock."
It wasn't a question.
A subtle oppressive aura filled the room as Troan's lips pressed tightly.
His eyes were defiant for a moment, but then he exhaled.
"I apologize, Mother. I never did knock on your door as a child. I guess It has become habit."
"Hm," She accepted the apology with a light grunt and the oppressive aura disappeared.
"It is fine. I am pleased that you still feel comfortable coming in here. I take it you awoke recently?"
Troan nodded.
Her eyes searched his face curiously for a moment.
"You seem to have a lot on your mind."
"I have questions."
"Questions." She echoed as her eyes shifted down to search the floor in thought.
"I knew this would happen. I also knew I wouldn't be ready for it today." She muttered to herself.
Troan frowned suspiciously at her words.
"I want to know how Vitrus died."
Her head tilted slightly and streams of long white hair fell to the side as her questioning eyes went up to him.
Troan was taken aback for a moment, briefly reminded of where Lurin got her beauty from.
"That is a question the head guard, the head chamberlain, or even your sister could inform you on... I assume you've met at least one of them."
Troan let out an imperceptible sigh and said. "They can only tell me what has been fed to them. I require the truth, which I know you possess, and perhaps more."
Her brows raised a bit as if she had just confirmed something, and then she looked away.
"I suppose that is not your only question."
"..."
Troan fixed an intense gaze on her, gulping as he let his silence speak for him.
Sauraia saw this and let out a small sigh of remorse.
"You did not come from Bluestone to see Vitrus, did you?"
"I thought I made that clear."
She raised her hand and caressed her forehead, letting out a tired groan.
"When I met your Swordbearer...felt how his spirit had certain similarities to yours. I suspected that this moment would come."
Troan's eyes widened in shock.
"So—"
"Wait!" She pleaded, raising an arm to stop him.
"I am not inclined to answer any weighty question at the moment. I ask that if you must inquire about anything from me, it should be light...if not trifling. Otherwise, leave and return at a better time."
Troan shot her a dubious stare before taking a deep breath to calm himself, then he began.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"I couldn't." Her reply came easily.
"You are not a child anymore, son. You've grown and so have your powers." There was a hint of pride in her tone.
"They call you Lord Seventh now. You've achieved a level of status no less than that of a duke. I am pleased."
Troan frowned, his eyes becoming sharp.
"Have you forgotten already, Mother? It is impossible to lie to me before my eyes."
Sauraia faked a clueless expression.
"Hm? Lie about what? That I am pleased?"
"I don't know!" Troan yelled. "All I know is that there is deceit in your words."
A sly smile then played on Sauraia's lips.
"Yes. Yes, you are right." She conceded.
"That ability of yours has always made me jealous. An extension of what you are, I'm sure."
"Why lie?" He asked through gritted teeth.
She shrugged and said. "Sorry, I was just curious to see if you still had that ability."
"In truth, I could have roused you." She confessed. "But I feared that I would harm you in the process. Unlike your childhood, you now have a divine weapon attached to your soul, the rousing ritual would have been risky...
"Despite how I may seem sometimes, I do care for you, and would not want to cause you harm."
Troan's eyes softened at her words, feeling a nice tickle in his chest.
Since he could sense no deceit in her words, he quietly decided to forgive her and move on.
"Why do I faint, Mother?" He asked after a brief pause.
She grimaced slightly at the seemingly unpleasant question, or maybe it was the answer.
"Your soul... was always unstable, son. Now the weight of the divine weapon attached to it easily tilts you toward displaying extreme emotions."
Then she shook her head.
"Honestly, It is a testament to your great willpower that you manage to stay composed."
She let out a sigh. "This is a difficult thing to explain in full, at the moment. Please ask something else."
Troan looked hesitant.
He seemed to have more to say on the topic, but he decided to drop them.
His mouth worked for a moment in thought and said.
"Kaydin intends to attend the Jubul. He revealed his desire to seek out someone there he could love. Someone to make his queen when he becomes king. What are your thoughts on this?"
Sauraia smiled, placing a hand on her cheek and letting out a soft sigh.
"Oh! To be young!" She gushed in a lovesick manner.
"Mother! Please be serious!"
Troan groaned and Sauraia tittered.
"Alright." She said, suppressing her mirth.
"...Your stepbrother has never been the type to stay put. He is just like his father in that regard. Unfortunately, he thinks the throne would restrict him."
"Would it not?"
"It definitely would. That is why the Jubul is likely an excuse to enjoy his last moments as an irresponsible prince." She remarked, a subtle disdain evident in her eyes despite her smile.
"Mother!"
Troan frowned disapprovingly at her snide remark.
She shrugged slightly.
"I simply speak the truth, and you know it."
Troan shook his head in resignation before asking.
"Does that mean his goal is not to find a wife?"
She let out a small, dismissive chuckle.
"It is simply not a priority... However, Hersana has communicated with her former household back at Regis, in the Duchy of Glass: The domain of the Lavafalls.
"Kaydin would likely be joined to the Lady Esphel Re' Lavafalls in sacred matrimony."
Upon hearing this, Troan had a sudden flashback to a young, hyper-energetic girl with hot pink hair and a wide, borderline mischievous grin.
"Esphel..." He muttered softly, eyes lost in a swirl of nostalgic emotions.