VI

Princess Valora sat in the back gardens looking out over the water. This was her favourite place, and her favourite weather, too: overcast, with a slight nipping breeze on her face. There was a perfect peace here, alone for a while and surrounded by flowers. She loved flowers-- she understood them much better than people. They made no demands, questioned nothing, and cast no spells (nor asked her to cast any). It was in this serene quiet  that the queerest of events happened in rapid succession.


Behind her she heard a clang and, spinning round, saw Mrako lurching forward and holding his left elbow. In the next instant he had darted out of sight. 


Not twenty moments later he dashed back past her view wielding what appeared to be her father's luncheon. Indeed it was, she surmised, as her father's manservant angrily followed him soon after.


Then her mother, weeping, ran past and up the back staircase, slamming the door behind her.


Stunned, and utterly confused, she decided to see what was upsetting her mother, and followed after her.


Once inside, she could see her mother huddling in a pile on the floor-weeping softly. She had never seen her mother (nor father, nor servant, nor anyone for that matter) cry.


"Mama...what is it?" 


Allendre shot up and all her weeping ceased. She seemed to be battling for control over herself. She took and released a long, ragged breath before standing with perfect queenly grace. She turned to face Valora.


She looked awful: her skin had an odd papery quality, and dark circles clung under her eyes. 


"I am tired, dear, very tired. And ill, I am sure. A doctor is coming tomorrow, but for today I must endure. I am tired, and ill and...cold." Her voice was thin, and she wrapped her arms around herself and sighed deeply.


Valora was horrified. She ran up to her mother and held her, and squeezed very softly. 
She could not think of anything to say.