IX

...was a grave error. It is sickening to think what Man might still know if not for it.
--Excerpt from Histories, by R.H Mucler 




Upon returning to the Palace, Rane had been given the honourable duty of polishing the Princess' silverware. He was exhausted, and confused, though in an odd way it helped to focus on this banal task.


He sat on the floor of one of Valora's side-rooms: meticulously rubbing the sliver, inspecting it for little flakes or crusted food, and then placing each piece back into it's proper place. He had never seen such fine things, and they were almost certainly the work of the grandest craftsmen alive! In each and every piece there were hundreds of little figures, probably the entire Kandor line-he mused. And the stamp was most unusu--


"No! I will not! Never! How can you even ask! No, No, No!" Valora's voice came screeching from the adjoining room.


Rane dropped the spoon he had been admiring and strained to hear what caused Valora's outburst. He heard only a low mumbling, and then more wild protests. He scooted nearer to the door. A terrible idea, as Valora flung it open and it came violently crashing into his face. He was hurled back with the force of it, and white, throbbing pain washed over his head and neck.


Valora stood stunned, "I'm sorry...Rane. I didn't realize you were here. I...." She trailed off, a far-away look coming into her face, laced with defeat and peppered with resentment. She did not want to apologize to anyone just now. She wanted to scream, and to break things, and to smash them into small irregular pieces and feed them to that damn elf-servant she had just been speaking to.


"That's all right, your majesty." Rane said, teetering his way to an upright sitting position. He couldn't really see. And the shock was giving way to more and more pain. It was concentrated in his jaw and nose, tickling his face like shredded glass.


Valora sighed, and sat down beside Rane. " Rane, have you ever been angry? Not just any sort of angry, but a high-frequency hot red tidal wave of angry. The kind that moves past words and even sensations to a place where there is nothing but angry. Have you ever felt that way? Because that is what I feel now."


Rane had no idea what one was meant to say to The Princess of Xanara is this circumstance. He could think only to say: "Yes, Your Majesty." 


Valora was not listening, "How could they? How dare they? Have they ever met anyone more incompetent at Magic? The Head of the Institute! I should like to be a toe-nail clipping, or a stray bit of hair! What could they possibly be thinking? I won't; I can't; I shan't do it."


Rane, very much in pain, could only nod as she continued this bitter tirade.