Honora moved through the halls like a ghost. Her steps were even and her gaze distant, though distance did not mean distraction. She was painfully aware of what went on within the walls of the palace. Her gift dragged every consciousness to her, like a black hole dragging in every thought, feeling, and memory with its gravitational pull. She would sense Florina as she was sensed by her, the two of them following her path. Though she recognized Tybalt, Honora did not recognize his companion. She started to tug at the edges of each of their minds—so subtle that Tybalt would miss it, but not Florina, who would recognize the exercise in magic. From Tybalt, she would notice the skepticism, the subtle fear, the discontent. From Florina? There was something peculiar. A kind of exertion of her psyche that was unique to anything Honora had seen. She smiled to herself.

You have nothing to fear. In fact, I’m glad you came to see me. The voice would drift into Tybalt and Florina’s minds, like a feather carrying on the wind. Come, let’s have some tea.

Honora would continue on her steady course before turning to her destination: a small sitting room, one that she’d once used for her lessons with Iliana. A familiar haunt, now made her own once again. She’d enter and leave the door open for the others, should they choose to follow. If he heard Honora’s footsteps, surely Tybalt would be able to hear the clink of the kettle as Honora set about swinging it over the fire.

When they entered, they would see a scene not unfamiliar to one that would have played out six, seven years ago when Honora was still Nell—Iliana’s tutor. She was dressed all in black, covered entirely as if she were some sort of clerical figure, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun. The greatest indication of what time had passed was the gauntness in her cheeks and the glint of the silver collar that was still around her neck.

When the door opened, Honora would not look up. She didn’t have to in order to detect who had entered. Honora went about her business, stoking the fire and answering Tybalt’s statement with a soft smile and a mysterious “hmmm” sound, playing into the mystical possibility of foretelling the future. She couldn’t, of course, but she found it amusing. She angled the kettle just so over the fire, lingering for just a moment before turning to face them.

“You see what company I keep these days,” Honora said warmly, offering them both a seat, “So trust me when I tell you, the pleasure is all mine.” Whether they took the seat or not, Honora would perch properly in a chair, turning her attention to Florina.

“I do not believe we’ve met.” The mundanity of Honora's conduct was out of step with the moment in which they found themselves, but she took refuge in it. The civilized simplicity that harkened back to days long gone by.

The new gifted advisor. Honora raised an eyebrow, smile falling a little. “I do not envy you,” She said softly, almost mourning. It wasn’t pity but sorrow for the woman before her, being made new fodder for the fire.

For they will turn against you. The day will come—be ready.

Those words were for Florina alone, a low warning like rustling grass in the storm slipping into her mind. It was then that she addressed Tybalt who was predictably agitated. She didn’t blame him. For a moment she considered him, not entirely sure how to proceed. Eventually, she decided there was no use mincing words. Truth was far more efficient.

“I was near death, Commander, courtesy of those who would see our kind wiped off the face of Terra Nova,” Honora said in calm, neutral tones, glancing at Florina and then back to Tybalt, “Hiram Eldouir gave me a chance to live, and I took it.”

It was Florina who would see the flashes of memory, entering her mind like a flash of lighting before disappearing again. Anselm, filleting the skin from her thigh. Quinton, unbuckling his belt as she whimpered and begged. Hiram, lifting her from where she bled to death on the stones of the dry creekbed. The flashes of reverie did not have enough detail to be closely remembered, but she hoped they were enough to make her point. It would only last an instant before Florina was back among them again. Perhaps Tybalt wouldn't even notice.

“I don’t suppose you think I put this on myself," Honora said to Tybalt, tapping the silver collar on her neck as steam twisted from the kettle's spout, "Count Wyndham’s sycophants are better equipped than you gave them credit for.”

Honora’s gaze lingered on Florina. Count Ellery. She was familiar with him. There was a question in her eyes as she nodded slowly. “He was not alone,” Honora said. She meant to say Quinton Featherton’s name next but to her surprise found that the words would not leave her lips. They stuck somewhere in her throat, mouth opening and closing, and by the time she’d swallowed, Tybalt was offering his condolences. Condolences, followed by a conjunction.

Tybalt’s line was consistent with what Honora had come to expect; Hiram was an example of the horrors that her kind was capable of, which made all other horrors pale in comparison. Honora listened politely, a soft smile sitting gently on her face.

“I know perfectly well what Hiram Eldouir is,” Honora stated calmly, “And I know it wise to fear him. That is why I am still here. Alive.”

The kettle started to steam more aggressively, spitting water from the spout which made a hissing sound as it hit the hot coals. Honora stood to tend to it, pulling it from the fire and beginning to pour hot water into three waiting cups. As she did, Honora started to test the boundaries of Florina’s mind, tugging at whatever thoughts or feelings were closest to the surface—not knowing the woman’s gift, and that she would be able to tell such a thing was being done.

“The Eldouir have returned. If you thought your armies were strong enough to expel them, then they would not still be in this castle. So, that being the case, that leaves us with only one way forward: to find a tolerable peace. And I hope to help find it.”

Honora turned with the two teacups to hand one to Florina and one to Tybalt.