#nialas

Agla does not need to see their fury, lest she think it is directed at her. She is afraid, and confused, and Melarue’s anger does not help the situation. They will let it continue to simmer under their skin, stoking it silently until they can unleash it on those who deserve the wrath.

They immediately slip into old ways and old thoughts, when taking a life meant survival and they slept soundly by the end of it all. But this is a different time, Deceit reminds them. A time of law and order and justice—justice, they scoff, justice has never existed, not truly—and they must move within these new parameters to prevent detection.

And so, as soon as they leave Agla and Kassaran in the apartment and head to their own rented vehicle in the parking lot, they dial a number rather than pull out to hunt Beraht down immediately.

Nialas picks up after the third ring, and Melarue can hear raised voices in the background. “Serah Bre’A?” She must be in a public place, to be speaking so formally. Melarue hears the sound of an office door closing, “What’s happened this time? How much paperwork will I need to fill out before the end of the night?”

“That is what I wish to know as well,” Melarue admits. “I am in Orzammar dealing with a…case of largescale child abuse. There is an orphanage that has shown evidence of physical and mental abuse, as well as ties to child trafficking.”

There is a very long pause, and Melarue hears Nialas hiss “Orzammar” under her breath before she clears her throat, “You’ll need to contact the Dwarven Department of Child Services. I can give you the number—what is the orphanage called? I can see if authorities can be sent as well, to help keep the situation under control.”

“It is a casteless orphanage in Dust Town.”

There is a sharp intake of breath, and Melarue counts the seconds that tick by as the silence stretches. That, Melarue supposes, is not a very good sign. Finally Nialas lets out the breath she’s been hold, in a long, heavy sigh, “Damn it all, Melarue. You couldn’t have picked a more problematic situation.”

Melarue taps the steering wheel absently. “Is there a problem?”

“The problem is that they’re casteless, Melarue. My contacts in the Orzammar department couldn’t do anything even if they wanted to and most don’t, the shitheels. I’ve been trying to suggest alternative systems for years, but I don’t have any sway in the Dwarven cities. Usually I am reminded that I should go raid an alienage for some mistreated elvhen children.” The irritation in Nialas’ voice is evident. Melarue must admit that whoever stood up to Nialas and told that to her face was someone with a spine of steel, and also a fool. “I can give you the names of a few people that might be able to tell you more, but there’s no way a Dwarven court is going to take that case seriously. At the most the orphanage owners will have to pay a fine.”

A slap on the wrist, after all they’ve done, because they don’t see those children as people. “What if the information were leaked to the surface?”

“Surface authorities can’t do anything. And you know how it is, Melarue. The humans don’t care about a few dead dwarves anymore than they do elvhen or vashoth ones, and the Chantry is the only power strong enough to even put up a threat. The elves and the vashoth can barely look after their own.”

“So there are no legal means of rectifying this?” Melarue’s voice sounds distant, even to themselves. They’ve already begun planning alternate routes, making paths sprout from imagined scenarios, weighing the pros and cons.

“None that would save those children, no.” Nialas answers, and she sounds frustrated with herself more than anything else.

“Very well.” Their voice is clipped, they know, far colder than Nialas deserves, as she apologizes and Melarue hangs up and stares at the dashboard and the nearly empty parking lot beyond the window shield.

They really had wanted to work within the law, this time.

They dial a second number from memory, and wait. They fear, as the ringing echoes in their ear, that it will go to voicemail, before the line connects, and they hear the static-y shuffle of someone moving, followed by a slightly breathless voice, “Old Mel?”

Melarue hums, “I do believe I’ve changed my phone number since the last time I’ve spoken with you, Serah Cadash.”

“You have,” Maibrit agrees, and seems to decide that’s enough of an answer. “Please tell me there isn’t a crime scene you need me to cover up because I am really busy right now.” There’s a second voice, muffled and soft, barely audible in the background.

“Please give my regards and apologies to your fiancé. The situation demanded I call someone of your talents and knowledge.”

“I didn’t think you cared for astrophysics and engineering, Serah!” Maibrit chirps, “Did you finally decide to help fund my Lesbians in Space project?”

“Unfortunately it is your other talents that I require.”

“Figured,” Maibrit mutters with a sigh. Melarue hears more muffled voices, as Maibrit places her hand on the speaker and speaks with her fiancé Lela, before her voice comes through clear and crisp once more. “Am I finally going to be clear of my debt after this?”

“It would seem that way.” Melarue acknowledges. “How much of a hold do you have over the judicial courts in Orzammar?”

“Did you murder someone in Orzammar?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, not yet, that’s comforting,” Maibrit groans. “Well my grandmother still holds Orzammar. I haven’t been able to get a foothold in, aside from some informants. She has most of the courts under her thumb. Why?”

“How likely would she be in aiding me in dealing with an illegal trafficking ring involving casteless children?”

“You mean disregarding the fact that you helped her heir set up a rival syndicate under her nose and protect said heir’s fiancé? Unlikely,” Maibrit answers readily. “The reason that The Old Nug has managed to keep her hold over the dwarven cities as the only syndicate is because she protects the old ways for them. She doesn’t push the stuffy traditionalists or try and change their laws. She isn’t going to stick her neck out for casteless children, even if Carta doesn’t feel kindly about child trafficking.”

“That is unfortunate,” Melarue agrees, frowning. “That being said, how likely would she be in investigating the…violent dismantling of said trafficking ring?”

“That’s where you’re in luck,” Melarue can almost hear the smile in Maibrit’s voice, “Because even if she won’t help you take them down, she also isn’t going to try very hard to find out who did, even if the Orzammar council asks her to, which they likely won’t. It doesn’t benefit her to waste resources on something she doesn’t care about and they know it just as well as I do.”

Melarue nods, “Do any of your informants know where I could find a dwarven man by the name of Beraht?”

“I’ll look into it.” Maibrit promises. “Anything else?”

“I may find myself in need of a safe place for several dozen casteless children.”

“Lela and I were thinking about adopting but I don’t think we planned on that many,” Maibrit jokes, “I’ll talk with my Orzammar contacts and see if there is a safehouse. We can work from there to get them out of the city.”

“Thank you, Serah Cadash.”

“I’ll send you the information as soon as I get it.” The line goes dead, and Melarue leans back and closes their eyes. So much to do, so little time…the window of opportunity is slipping them by. They need to get to Rica soon.

They know what it is like, that life, and they wish it on no one.

Memories begin to climb out of the depths where they’ve buried them, and they tsk and turn on the engine. No need to remember those unpleasant things, not when they have work to do.

Their phone rings again, and the recognize the number as Nialas’. “Serah Nialas?”

There’s a pause, before Nialas speaks. “Listen there’s…I may know someone on the surface who could take all those children. She owns an orphanage outside of Gwaren. But you’d have to get the children handed over to you and get them there.”

Finally, something pieces are beginning to click into place. “I can pay for transportation from the surface.”

“I’ll call Sylmae and let her know. I’ll message you her number as well. And Melarue?”

“Mm?”

“Make sure you dispose of the bodies properly.”

“I would never break the law, serah,” Melarue drawls.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, when they pull out of the parking lot, it’s with a message from Maibrit with the last known location of Beraht and the knowledge that once they’ve plastered the remains of him and the orphanage owners on the walls, they’ll have a safe place to take the children.

They begin to hum a tune.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a chance to let Deceit stretch its legs.

I agree, Deceit laughs, and the sound is not kind.

She has been an overseer of such things for as long as she can remember. And so she is not surprised that the Lady Ghilan’eth herself tells her that she wishes her to plan and oversee the construction of a new city.

The former Ghilan’nain had very few cities, as the majority of her territory was used for housing her experiments. Small towns and villages on the outskirts of patches of wilderness, yes, but few cities. Their new leader obviously wishes to leave her mark upon the world with something on a grand scale.

And the number of followers that her Lady has been amassing means there is less room in her stronghold and Arlathan palace for them to live comfortably. A new city is logical, and also a show of her growing power and strength. It is no secret that many of the highly skilled artisans of several of the evanuris have found their way into the light of the Safe Guide’s lantern.

Nialas is pleased to be a part of it all. She had worried, initially, when Lady Ghilan’eth was given the title of Guide, that she would do away with most of the former Ghilan’nain’s people, or strip them of rank. Not that there were many high-ranking servants left, after Ghilan’nain was deposed. And while Ghian’eth did raise up several others to fill certain voids, she was content to leave the people who were initially in charge of certain areas where they were, unless she found their ways of managing distasteful.

Several of the managers of the former Ghilan’nain’s outlying territories had been demoted, as it were, for their heavy hand in dealing with the lower ranks. Filling out her ranks with new followers is a double-edged sword, Nialas thinks. It keeps those potential assassins who were still loyal to the late Ghilan’nain from getting too close, but it also allows for spies from the other evanuris. Nialas highly doubts that all those being sent as “gifts” are being sent out of goodwill.

Especially those sent from Sylaise.

But Ghilan’eth had several allies before her ascension, and many of them now bear her star upon their faces. Her grandmother, a hunter and former servant of the late Andruil, is the one who leads Nialas into the Safe Guide’s private solarium, and who stands just outside as guard.

Her Lady sits at a carved stone desk, looking over a series of missives. She glances up at Nialas’ entrance, and smiles, “Hello Nialas.” Her voice is low, and soft, as it has been since Nialas first met her. She has heard from former peacekeepers and warriors that Ghilan’eth has a shout that can be heard over a battlefield, but it seems hard to picture.

“My Queen,” Nialas bows low. Out of the corner of her eye she catches the soft glow of a spirit. The Guide is rarely seen without one in tow, so this is not surprising. They weave in and out of patches of sunlight, reflecting it like dust motes. She thinks she spots Guidance and Safety, and at least two more.

“Come and sit,” Ghilan’eth orders, waving a hand toward the chair before her desk. There is a small tray of refreshments on a table nearby, but Nialas does not spare them a glance as she smooths out her skirts and places her hands in her lap. They look even whiter against the dark indigo of her gown.

“I know it must have seemed quite sudden when I appointed you with the task of planning my newest city.”

“Of course not, My Queen,” Nialas shakes her head, “It is my honor and privilege to serve.”

The Safe Guide sighs, softly, as her eyes go from the vallaslin across Nialas’ face to the marking on her own palm. Nialas supposes it must take some getting used to, being elevated to one of the Leaders of the People from one of their followers. But it has been five hundred years since her ascension. Surely by now she has accustomed herself to her new status. It had not taken the former Ghilan’nain so long to distance herself from her old role.

“There are some guidelines I wish to discuss with you, before any designs are drawn up,” Ghilan’eth says at last, tearing her gaze from the star on her palm with a dry smile. Her expression smooths to her more placid countenance once more.  “You may use magic to build, if you must, but no sacrifices will be made for the sake of fueling spellwork.”

Nialas nods. Ghilan’eth’s dislike of spirit sacrifices is well known. That will not be a difficult task, though it will make the building process much longer. For the scope of the city that Nialas has begun to construct in her mind, she suspects it will take the better half of a century to lay the foundations. A city like no other, a testament to the greatness of the Guide of the People, a—

“You may use magic to build, but the city itself must be able to run without it.”

Nialas blinks. Surely she misheard her. Surely her Lady did not just say what she thinks she did.

Ghilan’eth smiles, and continues to explain at Nialas’ confused expression. “There will be no floating towers.”

Well. Nialas’ model will need to change then. She had planned three of them, at least. Any city worth mentioning has at least three floating towers. And Ghilan’eth is the Guide. The night sky is her purview. A city to reflect that must have floating towers.

“Excessive magic will mean you must continually fuel the spellwork. Since there will be no sacrifices, that is out of the question. Any spells must be powered by natural means.”

Natural means. How on earth will she manage that? What kind of city does Ghilan’eth wish her to make? Anything within these guidelines will be a disgrace compared to the large cities of the other evanuris, and Arlathan itself.  She does not have the slightest idea how she can make a beautiful, impressive, and cohesive city without the use of magic at its foundation.

“That is not to say that no magic will be allowed. I merely wish you to build a city that has the potential to function without magic. A city that would not come crashing down if magic were gone.”

“There is no way magic could disappear, My Lady,” Nialas sputters. “Why would you need such a thing?” How on earth can she make a city to rival the artistic designs of Sylaise and her ilk without magic?

“Humor me.” Ghilan’eth continues to smile. “There are places in the wilds where the Dreaming is far away, and magic works sporadically. Even within my own territories this is the case.”

“That is…true.”

“My duty is to be the Guide and Navigator of the People. One day, perhaps we will travel further than the Dreaming can reach in our quest to map all that is. Would it not be advisable, then, to have a place built on similar means, to acclimate the People who might choose to venture so far?”

That is…reasonable. But an entire city? Would not an outpost do?

“It is something that has never been done,” Knowledge agrees. The spirit had come with Ghilan’eth’s sister when she had entered into her service, and has taken a liking to following the Safe Guide around when Isehari is out trekking through the wilds, as she is now.

“It is new and exciting,” A spirit of Adventure agrees. It is smaller than Ghilan’eth’s guard—that ridiculous elf is currently out trudging through muck and mud with Isehari mapping a section of swamp—and newer, but just as annoying and frustrating.

“It will be a new path,” Guidance puts in. “To show the People that new things can be done, and should be sought after.”

Nialas frowns. These spirits obviously do not understand all of the work that goes into the building of a city. The plans she must make, the patterns, the lay lines she must use to map the foundation so that it lines up with other eluvians for transportation…it is all turning into an impossible chore right before her eyes.

Still…to be the one who planned such a city and created it…to be known for such a feat…it is an appealing thought. There are many things that must be done and seen to. The areas she had originally thought of for its location will be useless now. She will need to find some other way to make the city a testament to the greatness of their leader.

“I have faith in you,” Ghilan’eth places a hand on her shoulder, “You will do well, Nialas. I look forward to your efforts.” Somehow it feels like Ghilan’eth truly believes what she is saying, and that it is not some barely veiled threat. Nialas thinks that if she were to fail miserably, the Safe Guide would simply tell her that they would try again.

Ghilan’nain had been similar, in a way. With experiments. They did not always work the way she wished them to, and she and those that worked with her in creating her monstrosities often failed. But with Ghilan’eth, it feels different.

She leaves the solarium slightly dazed, with a headache forming between her eyes that she thinks will not cease until the city is completed.

---

Nialas’ first order of business is to assemble a team of the finest architects and artists within Ghilan’eth’s territories. She then tells them the conditions they must abide by—and is met with horror and disbelief. “If you find yourselves unable to work under such conditions you may leave. It is a shame that such a small obstacle would stand in the path of your creativity, but I suppose it cannot be helped.” She makes no mention of the fact that she herself had found the idea audacious and ridiculous.

She wonders if she has simply been spending too much time around Ghilan’eth’s chief spirits. Excitement over this new venture is nearly palpable. If she can pull it off, it will be the greatest architectural feat in all of elvhen history. “You each have one month to craft a basic city plan. Then I shall look over all of them and decide which are viable. We will go from there.”

Simple enough. She suspects that she will have a viable design soon.

“These are all USELESS,” Nialas wails, tearing a blueprint to pieces in frustration. She watches the bits of paper fall to the ground at her feet, and she sets them on fire for good measure. The ash left behind swirls into the air as she begins to pace. “I am ruined. This project is a farce. What kind of designs are these? I would not use these designs to build a barn.”

She is going to go down in the history of elvhenan as the planner of the ugliest city of the People. Tasallir will rejoice over her failings. Not that he would show it; she does not think he possesses the facial muscles needed to smile. But it does not matter. All that matters is that she has failed before she has even begun.

Peril eyes her from the bed, “Try some of the lower ranking builders,” she suggests. Then, at Nialas’ disbelieving stare, “They are used to working with more constraints in terms of technique, material, and spellwork. They may have some ideas that others have overlooked.”

Nialas doubts it, but she takes the advice for what it is. And at this point, anything will be an improvement. The next morning she makes a proclamation to be delivered to all the builders within Ghilan’eth’s territories. All are welcome to make a city plan and submit it.

“This will be a waste of my time,” She mutters.

---

For the first two weeks after the proclamation is delivered, her worst fears come true. While there are better options being given, no one seems to know how they are going to create a city that would function properly without the use of magic…and still look like something grander than a few blocks of stone.

She’s so busy with the planning of the city and coming up with the management rosters that she diverts some of her normal everyday duties to her assistant Vunlean. Most of the work at the moment is simple task force management and overseeing, along with the planning of a small party to be held at Ghilan’eth’s principal holdings. Nothing large, just a star-gazing event that has become popular since Their Lady took on her mantle. Vunlean can handle all of that without her.

“And do not forget to check the new shipments coming in from Sulvenan. Last time the merchants tried to cheat us. Tell Insight that he had better look over everything before accepting it. The spellwork on several of the columns was faulty and we had to spend an entire day fixing it.”

The hallway echoes, and her voice carries, but the plain-looking elf trailing a few feet behind her simply nods. The look on his face tells her that he is not looking forward to the argument that will likely ensue if he starts giving orders to the higher-ranked acquisitions manager.

“If he gives you any trouble, tell him he can speak to me about it, or, if he feels particularly troubled, he can report to Our Lady about how he has decided that his pride was more important than following orders.”

Vunlean winces at that, still troubled. He’s never quite liked it when she puts up a fuss, but if she isn’t going to stand firm, no one will. And Insight has always been a bit too haughty for her taste. She waves Vunlean off after making him promise to relay her words to Insight before heading into her office.

A pile of new blueprints lies on her desk, next to a large table that takes up most of the room. A group of builders and artists she does not know are milling about, and they all turn to her as she strides in. These must be Her Lady’s newest acquisitions and those that had decided to take her up on her challenge of the city design.

Well then. “I haven’t had a chance to look over your current designs, so we’ll do so now.” She grabs the top print and places it atop the table in the middle. The image shifts, buildings springing to life out of the stone.

It doesn’t take her long to begin a critique. “How are you planning to support these archways and the main palace without magic?” Nialas questions aloud, pointing.

“It is only one building, I thought perhaps we could make an exception for the palace—”

“Our Lady’s guidelines were simple. The entire palace would collapse without magical foundations and strengthening. And the only redeeming part of this design are those archways. The rest of the city plan is positively boorish. Do you expect me to show this design to Our Lady? Do you think simply because she is patient with fools that she will accept anything you draw?”

She waves her hand and the image returns to the piece of parchment and she drops it to the ground behind her. This continues for several more designs, and as the afternoon crawls by she feels her patience running thin. This is the best they have to offer?

That is, until one of the chief builders of Ghilan’eth’s northernmost outlying territory comes forth and places his design down before her. A hush falls over the group of mumbling architects as the image rises from the marble tabletop; domed buildings and elegantly carved arches atop cliffsides. The roar of water fills her ears. “Explain the design,” She murmurs, not taking her eyes off the blueprint, looking for faults and finding very few.

One of the tall elves nearby steps forward, “I thought the best way to create complexity in the design was to add in a natural element outside of the buildings themselves. There is an area within my jurisdiction that has a suitable river system.”

“So the water is pulled through natural aqueducts and passageways? How solid is the bedrock?”

After a moment of silence she glances over sharply. The man who had spoken has turned to a younger elf near the edge of the group, who looks down when he notices Nialas’ stare.

Ah. So that is how it is.

It is not uncommon for a master to steal their apprentices work, or a higher-ranking servant to receive the credit belonging to a lower ranking one. Most people would let it pass. But while Nialas has never claimed to be a particularly benevolent person—she doubts the word has ever been attributed to her by others—she has certain principles that she will not stand being broken.

The stealing of another person’s hard work is one of them.

There are many reasons, such as if something were to go wrong, the person who truly created the plan would not be consulted and the person who stole it might not know how to fix it, but it ultimately boils down to the fact that Nialas hates those who cannot do things on their own.

Leeches. People who have gotten their position through no hard work on their own part, or who keep it through underhanded means.

“What is your name?” She asks the young elf, who nearly flails backward as she approaches him.

“I—”

“Please don’t mind him, Nialas. He is my new apprentice. He had his vallaslin ceremony two decades past and has never been outside of Adhalan. He is still overwhelmed by the grandeur of Our Lady’s stronghold.”

Nialas snorts. “Your name, da’len.” She crosses her arms and waits.

“Ah…it’s…Vararith,” The young elf stammers. He doesn’t seem to know which of them he should be more afraid of, Nialas or his mentor. But he seems to decide rather quickly, and accurately, that the person he doesn’t wish to make angry is her.

“Vararith, please explain your design.”

“It is my design,” The older elf frowns. Vararith winces as the man lifts his hand, and Nialas’ eyes narrow further. “Vararith,” she doesn’t take her eyes off the young elf’s mentor, “I would like you to go and get something to eat in the dining halls. In fact, I think all of you should go and take a meal break while I speak with this esteemed architect.”

The other builders and artists move quickly, and some poor soul takes pity on Vararith and leads him out with them. The door to the room closes with a soft “snick” and Nialas tucks her hands into the ends of her long sleeves and begins to pace.

“Our Lady has made it clear that forcible punishment of lower-ranking servants is prohibited unless a crime has been committed, in which case the matter will be turned over to Our Lady’s pathfinders. I believe that even the most remote territories under Our Lady’s guidance must have been informed of these new laws by now.”

“I—”

Later that day she is called into Ghilan’eth’s solarium, and the Guide asks her why Adhalan’s chief builder has been reduced to a gibbering, terrified mess of tears. She gives a nod after the explanation and tells her to continue with her work, and that the matter has been settled. But the proud smile she gives Nialas makes her warm all the way from her ears to the tips of her toes, and she goes back to work the next morning with a smile.

---

Vararith’s design is sound, but there are still problems with the layout and distribution of weight, and his knowledge of stone types and other materials used by higher-ranking builders is lacking. Nialas keeps a number of the architects who submitted other designs in the stronghold to help in creating a more cohesive city plan.

It becomes more of a group effort than anything else. Most of the builders and artists left are ones with middling rank, and they trade ideas freely. It does not take long for them to begin adding to the original, and modifying certain buildings and roads.

Innovation flits by, “But what if we looked at it from this angle? Or perhaps tried a different path? Would it not be easier to go under than over?”

The main office becomes littered with floor plans and sketches of column designs and mosaic tile patterns. Vunlean comes by often to inform her of the duties he’s taken over, and she sends him off with acquisition requests for certain types of stone, so that the group can begin testing the properties of a few choices.

“It is a shame that Aelynthi cannot sculpt the image of Our Lady,” One of the artisans sighs, looking over the image they have drawn up. Above the arched gateway to the city will stand a statue of The Guide, holding her lantern high. The lantern itself will glow bright at night, to light the way for anyone who travels in the dark.

“The Lady Sylaise will not give up her chief sculptor.”

“Perhaps he could be borrowed for the occasion?”

“I have heard rumors that he is not allowed out of Arlathan, for fear that Our Lady will find a way to whisk him to safety until she can acquire him.”

“Hush, all of you!” Nialas snaps, not looking up from a couple of garden plans. “You have been commissioned by Our Lady to craft this city, not spread rumors.” She neatly stacks the next set of designs and places them on her counter, before pulling out one of the rough city plans.

Since the design is nearly finalized, it is time to show it to Her Lady. Nialas must confess she is more than pleased with the end result than she suspected. She orders everyone to keep working and heads off to speak with the Guide.

The solarium doors are closed, which is an odd sight. Ghilan’eth keeps them open when she is in residence, so that her followers can easily report to her. Adventure stands outside, staff leaning against his shoulder. Isehari is not present, which means she is likely attending to some duties Ghilan’eth has set aside for her to keep her out of trouble. When the two of them are together it usually ends in a disaster of some sort.

“Is Our Lady in residence?”

“Oh, Nialas,” Adventure bows his head quickly in greeting and gives a quick smile, “Desire and Faunalyn are giving reports, so she asked not to be disturbed until they are finished.”

That makes sense. “I will return later in the evening, then,” She turns to go just as the solarium doors swing open and she hears the tail end of Ghilan’eth’s tired murmur, “Tell Lavellan of our decision.” Desire and Faunalyn walk out, looking serious and solemn.

“My Queen, Nialas wishes for an audience,” Adventure ducks his head inside.

“Ah, come in Nialas,” Her voice sounds warmer than it had moments ago, and Nialas passes Adventure to see her sitting near one of the stained glass windows near the garden entryway. She has a small griffin in her lap, and a soft glow emanates from her fingers as she presses them to a bloodied foreleg.

“It was injured?” Nialas finds herself saying before she can stop. Griffins are a rarity, especially in the previous Ghilan’nain’s lands, where magically crafted beasts had hunted most of them down. They have slowly made a recurrence along the northern cliffsides after Ghilan’eth’s latest expedition out into the wilds to hunt down more of Ghilan’nain’s old beasts. A pair have recently nested nearby, though Nialas hadn’t known they’d had their first hatchlings yet.

She glances outside and sees a flash of bronze feathers and golden lion eyes. One of the parents is lying just outside the garden archway, watching as Ghilan’eth heals the wound. “This little one became a bit overzealous in its attempts at flight. It fell off the garden wall and cut itself on one of the statues.”

Nialas clutches the parchment rolls close to her chest and edges a bit away from the open doorway, so that Ghilan’eth is between herself and the adult griffin outside, just in case. “Would it not be best to subdue the parents, in case they become upset or aggressive at their kit’s distress?”

Ghilan’eth sighs softly, brushing fingers along the small griffin’s back. “Parents should not be kept from their children.”

Nialas does not think Her Lady is talking about the griffins anymore. She swallows, “I wished to show you the designs we have crafted.”

The Safe Guide looks up from the griffin with a smile, bitterness fading into pleasant surprise, “You have finished, then?”

“Nearly. We will go through the final adjustments after you have looked over the designs.” Nialas nods.

Ghilan’eth lifts the griffin up out of her lap with a sigh and places it on the ground. It scampers back toward its parent, who begins to preen its feathers as it lets out an indignant squawk. There is a small blood stain on her dress, but she pays it no mind as she stands and holds out her hands.

“Let us see them, then.”

---

Ghilan’eth approves of the city plans, praising the design and the innovative site choice. “It will be a wonder to behold. Once the location has been scouted and approved, I will go to lay the foundations for the eluvian.”

A single eluvian is what Ghilan’eth proposes, outside the city itself, on the hill before the bridge that separates the city from the cliffs that surround it. It will be immense, meant for merchant caravans and large entourages from the crossroads.

Everything is coming together smoothly, as the initial scouts and architects go to the site and begin to map out the borders. Nialas hands over more of the building duties to those suited to the task, and sends Vunlean off with more requests for stone and glass and crystal.

And that is when the model for the statue of Ghilan’eth arrives for inspection.

The fools have carved it out of the same material as the walls of the city.

“What is this?” Nialas snaps, looking at the statue in front of her. “Did you truly think this was worthy of Our Lady’s attention? How ridiculous. It is unseemly. It is not the proper kind of stone for an image of one of our illustrious leaders! And the technique is reprehensible. The entire piece is…is…is too common to be considered a proper representation of our lady for the public to view!”

“What seems to be the problem, Nialas?”

Nialas turns from looming over the cowering, foolish artisan and swallows, quickly bowing her head. “Forgive me My Lady, for showing you such an uncouth display.”

Ghilan’eth smiles her placid smile, and turns her attention to the problem at hand. Nialas winces as the Safe Guide looks over the piece. How embarrassing! For her lady to see this image someone believes is her own, made of such common material and artistry, and so…so…

“I like it,” Ghilan’eth nods, “Is this the piece that will be going to the new city?”

“it is only an example, of course. The stone will most definitely be changed to something of higher quality and a new sculptor will be needed for the details, and the lantern will be redone at a proper blacksmith’s behest and forgive me for allowing this image to be shown to you—you like it?”

Ghilan’eth laughs. Bright and loud. Her curls bounce with the movement, as she places a hand over her mouth and her eyes crinkle a bit at the edges. Has Nialas said something amusing? She does not think so. She fumbles with her hands and tries to think of something else to say to repair the situation in some way.

“I like it,” Ghilan’eth repeats, still chuckling softly. She places a hand to the rough-hewn surface. “Keep the stone the same. The Guide is one of the People, Nialas. I am built from the same make as the rest of you. The stone that makes up our city is a fitting material.”

“But—but My Lady—” Nialas nearly wails, trying to find some way to convince her otherwise. If the other leaders come to see it they will surely mock her. They will say her people do not view her with greatness. That they think her little and insignificant and common like themselves.

“Keep the stone,” Ghilan’eth’s tone is firm this time, eyes serious, even as she smiles. “And the artist as well. I like the expression.” Her gaze turns almost wistful as she stares up into her own face. “I look very happy.”

She is meant to look serene and graceful. Like she is standing silent guard over the city with her lantern held high, not cheerfully inviting friends inside for a chat and some homemade pear tarts! And yet, the look upon Her Lady’s face as she gazes at the statue makes Nialas’ relent.

Very few things seem to truly make Her Lady happy. She supposes that they can relent here. If they spin the description properly, and add in more precious stones and detail into the carvings and the metal-work of the lantern...

Yes, she supposes this will do.

---

The eluvian is the first thing built, understandably. Ghilan’eth sees to the spellwork personally, and spends several months out in the wilderness with only a small entourage to guard her until it is completed. By the time the eluvian is built and construction of the city walls has finally begun, the spring solstice passes, with a large ceremony in Arlathan for the latest city-wide sacrifice to fuel the spellwork.

Nialas remains behind to oversee work, and is a bit disappointed. The ceremonies in Arlathan are always grand. She had wished to help plan the outfits for Ghilan’eth’s entourage, but had left it to Grandeur and Vunlean so she could focus on her task here.

She returns through the eluvian to request more granite the night after the solstice ceremony and is making her way down the halls when she spots a soft glow coming from Ghilan’eth solarium. She had not thought Her Lady would be returning for a few more days…

Well, if it is Isehari running around in her sister’s rooms while she is gone, Nialas will have to have a talk with her. Simply because she is Their Lady’s younger sibling does not mean she can behave this way.

The solarium itself is empty and unguarded. The desk that usually stands at its center when Ghilan’eth is holding court is not there. The room is filled only with creeping vines and fireflies, and magnolia trees whose roots seem to slide seamlessly through the tiled floor into the ground. She can hear the distance gurgle of a fountain.

The light is coming from the private garden just outside. Nialas swallows. It is not…this is not something she should be doing either. But what if it is an intruder and not simply Isehari? Nialas gathers her skirts in her hands, so that they do not brush against the floor and make a sound, as she slowly edges toward the open archway.

It is Ghilan’eth.

Her Lady is upon the ground, the skirts of her gown rippling around her like a pool of quicksilver, the stardust in her hair reflecting the open night sky above her.

Nialas hears a ragged, torn breath, and the air trembles with grief and guilt. Ghilan’eth’s shoulders shake with silent sobs.

This is not for her to see. This is a private mourning that she is not meant to witness. She takes a step back and turns to leave.

“I could only save one, and I did not choose him. I have killed him. His death is on my hands,” Sorrow whispers as it floats past her, a whisper.  Nialas nearly jumps, and places her hands to her mouth to keep her startled gasp contained, as Sorrow goes out to the garden and settles close to the Guide.

Nialas hurries out of the room, heart beating quickly.

That was not for her to see, or to hear. And she does not know what it meant, what Sorrow was trying to get her to understand…but she cannot forget the sight of Her Lady’s trembling shoulders…and how small she seemed in that moment.

Small, like the spirit of Sorrow she had coaxed back from Despair, small but so full of grief and guilt. Like the entire world rests upon her shoulders and she cannot bear the weight of it.

Nialas will never forget the sight.