“Do they know?” Zylron asked carefully as he poured some wine for himself and his friend.
“Only I know, my lord,” sir Oran said as he closed the door slowly. He kept his eye on the halls ahead until the door was fully closed. He then locked it and blocked all possible lines of sight or voice.
“Good,” Zylron said as he took a sip of his wine. His bony hands trembled as he drank.
“I can guarantee, my lord that no one will ever find out about your true origin,” Oran spoke as he got his wine and drank. “I’ll make sure of it,” He dried his face with his sleeve before he sat down and faced the ocean. “The harbor is truly a magical element of the city, wouldn’t you agree?” Zylron glanced at the view, chuckled and said:
“It’s always nice to see the water. I’ve been staring at frozen wastelands for so many cursed years that I barely remembered how the sea looked,” he gulped the rest of the wine and rested the stein on the table. He then joined sir Oran after they exchanged a glance or two.
“You know, since you arrived, the city has been more… alive, you could say,” Zylron raised his eyebrow. “There has never been such political activity as now. It seems that all the buried hatreds have surfaced and the courtroom has been filled with cloaked lords,” Oran’s face turned into an ironic smile as he stared out the window. “I wonder where the people got the spark to begin this kind of political movement…” He gave a faint glance at Zylron, before he turned his eyes back to the sea.
“Are you suggesting that I have an influence on this conflict, sir Oran?” He chuckled.
“Of course not, my lord. We both know the truth about one another and I know your intentions for Valnoria are all but good,” Zylron nodded and poured himself some more wine.
“Another?” Oran nodded and waved his hand to comply. The red nectar flowed from the jag like blood from a wound and soon, they both drank it down like it was nothing. Oran sighed and placed his stain on the table with force.
“If we’re real for a moment, my lord,” he started as he glanced at the door with a worried pale face, “you’re being tracked down,” a cold, yet burning wave pierced through Zylron’s body and his hands suddenly began to sweat like he was being roasted.
“What do you mean?” he stuttered. “You said no one knows my origin!” he shouted through his teeth.
“And I didn’t lie, my lord,” Oran spoke as he stood up. Zylron slowly followed and said:
“What is this all about then?” He moved closer to Zylron and whispered:
“The prince hasn’t taken kindly of your appearance. He has spies everywhere, watching your every move. He wants to find out the truth in order to exile you or even worse, to execute you, which he would do with great pleasure I’m afraid;” An icy vain shivered on Zylron’s spine. He poured himself some more wine and drank it with speed. He wanted to drown his thoughts.
“I have done nothing wrong!” he shouted.
“Indeed you haven’t, my lord. Yet the prince still doesn’t believe your intentions. He sees something in you. You’re a foreigner after all. Your hair is long and white as the snow. Nothing like ours,” Oran said as he took a sip of his wine. “I suggest you’ll keep a low profile, my lord. You’ve gained a lot of influence and wealth, which you truly deserve, but you’re also being watched more closely. It would be best if you’d remain silent for a few moons,” Zylron felt bitter and his face was tensed. His entire body felt like a bag of frozen rocks and his mouth was dry as a desert. He took another gulp of his wine and gave Oran a bitter nod. It brought a faint, yet compassionate smile onto his face. “Remember, I’m your friend,” he said as he made his way to the door, “I’ll keep you informed about the prince’s intentions. Keep yourself alerted, my lord,” He bowed to him and moved out from the room, leaving Zylron staring blankly at the sea. He sighed and stared at his stein for a moment. He then threw it out at the sea, shouting as he did, before collapsing on his chair and hiding his head behind his hands.
I wonder if this was a good idea after all… he thought.
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