15th Sa'un 716
Time was an endless, relentless march of slow seconds. Like the ants that came in under the window, down the wall and across the room before they vanished beneath a gap in the skirting, the passage of Trials was linier, constant and boring. Rest they had said. You’re pregnant, get plenty of rest. The Doctor would have laughed to realise how diligently their words had been executed. After what she thought was twenty Trials in the sparse prison, Elyna had experience more rest then she wanted for the whole of her life. Thankfully, Marcus had then relented his dogma over her life and requested that her belongings were returned to her. The small bag of clothes, toiletries that she bought to Burhan, along with her sword. The resulting Trials had been easier, she’d concentrated on her Hawk and re-teaching him how to fly around the confined space. The night he had strangled her, he had bought her here. Locked her in the dusty room of the second floor of the house. She thought that the bruises had faded, because she couldn’t feel them anymore. Besides, she had nothing to see them with.
The room smelt of old paper and faded flowers, a living nightmare for the woman. But with her sword return, at least the scent was overlain with oil and whetstone. The subtle hints of leather from the scabbard and her jerkin.
Bootsteps climbed the stairs and the Skyrider positioned herself, with her back to the wall, on the bed. Her possessions were neatly folded in her bag. Her sword lent against the wall beside her. Ready, as though at any moment she could set out on a journey, or an adventure. The hawk lifted his wings, shaking out his feathers from his perch at the end of the bed. The window didn’t open wide enough, for even the bird to escape. But at least, when it was open, it could coax in a small breeze from the scorching heat outside. Surely, she thought, the season had truly changed? Surely it had to be Sa’un? The only thing she knew for certain, was that her unborn child seemed to grow a little each day. The curve of her stomach was undeniable and starting to press against even her loosest shirt. She found herself talking to the child, telling it stories that she had collected from Burhan and Andaris, and remembering her journeys flying high above the clouds. It seemed like a different life. Maybe though, it was simply all in her mind, she had little else to distract her thoughts.
The lock slid back from the catch, the metal scraping on wood. Elyna had expected the usual pair of men, silent strangers, interchangeable and disposable to Veljorns cause. They always came in two’s though, one with a tray of food that he swapped for the old one, and another with a loaded crossbow, levelled directly at her. But it was one man, alone. Marcus. Elyna scrambled to her feet as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, balancing the tray of food on one hand like he’d been balancing trays his entire life. She heard the click as the lock slid back into place, trapping them together.
As though all the blood had left her body, fear left her fingertips tingling and her heart pounding against her ribs.
“What are you doing here?” It was a demand but she knew better than to reach for her sword. He’d visited her only once before, kept his distance and left again. Why was he back? What did this mean?