SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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Huge arches giving way to the outside view from three walls flanked Xanthy and her friends as they followed the Precar past an expansive court room void of benches. Carpets muffling their footsteps were spread at the whole expanse of the room. Damn, these must be a pain to wash.
The wind blew outside, shaking the multicolored canopies largely dominated by green. Fog muted every color and turned the air heavy and wet. The sun had started to set and Xanthy, without risking a glance at a timeteller out of sheer respect, guessed it must be between the third quarter and the second hour of the third quarter. Just a few hours left and they'll enter the second sphere.
Another day gone. How were the brownies holding up?
Xanthy shook her head. Focus on what's coming.
Indeed, what's coming commanded attention of every kind. An ornamented chair was installed atop a decorated dais and on it sat Ezril wearing the same outfit and the same stony face. A circlet with an emerald piece decorated the High Priestess' brow, glinting against the scant light in the courtroom.
The Precar in front of them paused, put his hands together, and dipped his head. Xanthy glanced at the floor and realized that they're just a few steps from Ezril's throne.
Six people dressed in formal coats, skirts, and trousers flanked the High Priestess on either side. Xanthy studied the array of silver and blue hair, the slew of men and women, and all kinds of weapons that they bore. The Rekshais.
They were in the middle of an argument with Ezril caught in the middle of it.
"You know those cursed Imperial fairies won't spread an inkling of their help," the man with bright, silver hair said with his eyebrows meeting together. He reminded Xanthy of the self-righteous Nobles but not in a bad way. They just have a similar stance and the same manner of speaking. "As it is, High Queen Sylkrana doesn't even care about us."
"You think too much, Reksha Ryul," an old man reached out and patted the fuming Reksha on the shoulder. Xanthy knitted her eyebrows. She thought fairies never aged? How come this banshee looked like he's been here for a thousand years? "Perhaps this is just a trying time for us all."
"Not a valid reason to deny us help," the woman with blue hair crossed her arms. A curved sword glinted at her side. "High Queen Nevrin didn't even grant us access for personal contact. It's just that damned witch of an assistant telling us that the High Queen is indisposed at the moment."
"What's wrong with her, anyway?" the man with the staff asked. He looked like he was just Xanthy's age but his deep voice told her that this man has been around for quite some time. "She's becoming less visible these days. The crusades even stopped."
"She's sick, or as the rumors say, she's going crazy," the woman with the ponytail ran a hand on her scalp with a tip of her head. "Either way, the bottom point is that Lanteglos can't help us. Not today. We're on our own."
