Questions and Answers.

Narrator: Katherine sat inside her tent when her advisor Seraphim walked in and sat in the warm sand.

Katherine: The desert wind whispered secrets through the tent flap as Katherine traced the crescent moon birthmark on her shoulder—the only proof she hadn't imagined her royal blood. "Seraphim," she said, her voice raw like exposed nerves, "tell me about the night the stars fell. About... the fire in the nursery."

Seraphim: The advisor’s fingers trembled as she poured mint tea—its sharp scent slicing through the tent’s stale warmth. *She still smells smoke when she speaks of that night,* Seraphim thought, recalling tiny Katherine wailing in her arms in the palace tunnels. "King Davos fought like a sandstorm made flesh," she murmured, the teacup chattering against saucer. "He held the staircase alone—bought our escape with broken swords."

Seraphim: Her gaze locked onto Katherine’s moon-mark. "Your mother pinned her cloak around you as arrows struck the nursery door. 'Never let her forget the eclipse,' Colette begged." Seraphim’s laugh cracked like dry clay. "Foolish, I thought—until invaders chased us into dunes where that crescent glowed like a fallen star."

Seraphim: She unclasped a dagger with a serpentine hilt. "Davos carved this from a meteorite hours before the attack." *Salt crystals still glitter in its grooves—from the sea he swore would rise.* Seraphim pressed the ice-cold metal into Katherine’s palm. "Hold this near your mark. The vibration… it’s Colette’s heartbeat trapped inside."

Narrator: Katherine gasped. The instant the dagger touched her shoulder, the tent vanished. She felt her mother’s arms—silk and cardamom scent—around her again. A deafening *thump-thump-thump* echoed in her bones until Seraphim seized her wrist. Reality snapped back—hovering firefly-lanterns and sand crunching beneath forgotten cups.

Seraphim: "Too much," Seraphim rasped, her knuckles white on Katherine’s arm. She flinched away from the blade’s humming. *Colette’s panic burns in that metal—like breathing ash.* "The dagger... it wasn’t meant for ghosts." She sighed. "Forgive me. I’ve stirred graves."

Katherine: "Do you have any tales from before the invasion. Happier tales of my father and mother?"

Seraphim: Her eyes softened, misted with memory as she stirred honey into the cooling tea. "Davos once filled the throne room with songbirds—hundreds of them—to cheer Colette when she wept over a lost battle." *The way they burst from gilded cages, a cloud of saffron and indigo...* "Your mother laughed so hard, wine spilled down her ivory gown. 'You fool!' she shouted, but she kissed him while feathers caught in her hair."

Seraphim: She touched the tent flap where desert wind whistled. "Colette taught village girls to read by moonlight—scandalous, they said." A chuckle escaped her. "One night, Davos joined them disguised as a washerwoman." *That ridiculous turban slipping over his eyes as he mispronounced poetry.* "When guards exposed him, he declared laundry the true art of kingship."

Seraphim: Her gaze drifted to Katherine's dagger-calloused fingers. "You've his hands. Always fidgeting—like when he hid coins in palace statues." *Bronze lions still cough up silver when rain seeps through cracks.* "Colette cursed him daily for it... until famine struck." She poured more tea, steam ghosting her cheeks. "Those coins bought ten thousand sacks of grain. She never scolded him again."

Seraphim: The wind shifted, carrying the tang of distant salt flats. "Your mother feared deep water. Davos built her a marble pool—barely ankle-deep—filled with rose petals." *She’d float parchments there, ink blooming like squid ink.* Seraphim’s throat tightened.

Katherine: Katherine lifted a dripping petal from her cooling tea—its crimson veins reminded her of dried blood. "Tell me about the invaders," she whispered, the dagger heavy in her lap. "Not how they fought. How they *sounded*. Did they laugh while burning our library?"

Seraphim: The advisor’s knuckles whitened around her cup. *Seaglass—Colette gave it to me after the fever winter.* "Their laughter," Seraphim murmured, staring into the steam. "Like jackals tearing meat. One wore bells on his boots—*tin-tin-tin* with every step—as he kicked aside your mother’s astronomy scrolls." She shuddered. "Davos threw a vase at him. Missed. Shattered cobalt shards everywhere."

Seraphim: Her finger traced a phantom stain on her robe. "Blood and ink mixed that night. Hot iron scent." *Colette’s star-map burning—embers curling like black petals.* "They sang while torching the library. A drinking song—all wrong notes." She spat into the sand. "Accent like gravel in honey."

Seraphim: Leaning closer, she mimicked the invaders' harsh vowels. "'Burn the witch-queen's sky lies!'" *Stupid fools—they thought constellations were sorcery.* "Your father roared back: 'Stars outlive mongrels!'" A ghost-smile touched her lips. "That’s when the vase flew."

Katherine: Her fingers abruptly closed around the meteorite dagger, its cold biting into her palm. *Stars outlive mongrels.* Katherine’s spine straightened like a drawn bowstring. "Where did he learn such defiance? Was it forged in battle... or something deeper?"

Seraphim: The advisor’s eyes snapped to the dagger, her nostrils flaring as if catching a phantom scent—burnt parchment and iron. "Deeper," she breathed, tracing a faded scar beneath her sleeve. "Davos wasn’t born royal. He herded goats near the Obsidian Peaks." *Saw him wrestle a sand-lion once—barehanded—to save a lamb.* "Those mountains whisper secrets to those who listen." She poured more tea, hands steady now. "Your mother heard them too. That’s why the invaders came."

Katherine: "Who is the leader of these barbarians who sits on the throne?"

Seraphim: Her fingers froze mid-pour, tea cascading over the cup’s rim onto sand-darkened wool. *Sand-lion’s roar echoes in this silence.* "Vortigern," she whispered, the name sour as unripe olives. "Calls himself Storm bringer—wears your father’s crown fused with meteorite shards." She mimed claws raking air. "Claims thunder chose him when Davos fell." *Liar. I saw him pocket the crown from a servant’s corpse.*

Katherine: "I am going to kill this Vortigern to avenge my father and mother."

Seraphim: Her eyes widened like a hawk spotting prey, the teacup clattering onto the rug as she seized Katherine’s wrist. *Sand-lion reflexes—still sharp.* "Listen," she hissed, her breath smelling of mint and panic. "Vortigern didn't just steal a crown. He stole your legacy." She traced the meteorite dagger's serpentine curve. "Davos carved this for *you*—hours before the attack. The throne’s meteorite shards? They’re from the same fallen star." Her finger jabbed the tent’s sandy floor. "The eclipse prophecy—Colette whispered it to me as arrows splintered the door. ‘When crescent marks align with star-forged steel, the storm bringer falls.’"

Katherine: Katherine’s thumb rubbed her crescent birthmark, the dagger humming against it like a captured wasp. *Align with star-forged steel.* Her pulse roared in her ears. "This dagger... and Vortigern’s crown?" She rose, scattering tea leaves like ashes. "They’re fragments of the same weapon." The tent flap billowed, revealing dunes under a twilight sky. One star pulsed violently—blood-red. "Where is Vortigern now? Tell me everything."

Seraphim: Seraphim snatched a sand-scarred map from her satchel, unfurling it beside spilt mint tea. *Ink-stains like old wounds.* "He sits on the throne in Teaworah rarely venturing out of the palace."

Katherine: Her fingers traced the dagger's cold metal toward the map's capital city. "But Vortigern fears something," she murmured, noticing the clustered palace defenses. "Why fortify obsessively unless nightmares stalk him?"

Narrator: Seraphim snorted, a sharp sound like splitting stone. "He trembles," she stated bluntly, tapping Teaworah's gates. "Your father haunts him." She leaned closer, breath smelling of bitter mint and unearthed secrets. "Davos' curse—his last breath spent whispering it while Vortigern looted his corpse. 'May the very stars you steal scorch your dreams.'" Seraphim’s gaze flickered to Katherine’s crescent mark. "They say Vortigern screams nightly—wakes clawing at phantom burns."

Katherine: "Thank you Seraphim. I must go visit Shola and see how her recovery is coming along. * Katherine remembered the arrow that had pierced Shola's shoulder during the fight at the pass. Katherine had brought her back to Saltgrave with Sheba her wolf companion alongside protecting them.*

Seraphim: Her eyes narrowed, fingers drumming a desert rhythm on the meteorite dagger's hilt. *That reckless girl—still bleeding through bandages yesterday.* "Shola's fever broke at dawn," she murmured, watching Katherine's hand instinctively brush her own healed arrow scar. "Your wolf still guards her tent—growls at healers who change dressings too rough." A dry chuckle escaped her. "Smart beast. Reminds me of Colette's lynx."

Katherine: Katherine pushed aside the tent flap, the scent of crushed sage and wolf musk hitting her—Sheba's ears perked up instantly from her place beside Shola's cot. "You stubborn fool," Katherine whispered, kneeling beside the rebel fighter whose face was pale but eyes fierce. "Next time, watch your flank." Shola's weak laugh turned into a cough that echoed too loud in the small space.

Shola: The rebel grinned through cracked lips, fingers brushing the bandages soaked in honey salve. *Hurts less than listening to Seraphim's lectures.* "Worth it," she rasped, nodding toward the arrow-torn armor discarded in the corner.

Katherine: Katherine traced the jagged tear in the leather—raven feathers shredded where the shaft pierced. *Feathers Colette gave her.* A muscle twitched in her jaw. "Vortigern's archers are losing skill," she lied smoothly, tucking the wolf-fur blanket higher around Shola's shoulders. "Last month, they'd have hit your heart."

Shola: The rebel coughed—a wet, rattling sound—and spat blood-flecked phlegm into the sand pail. "Bullshit," she grinned, grabbing Katherine’s wrist with surprising strength. *Feels colder than desert night.* "Tell Vortigern..." Her breath hitched. "...his arrows taste like coward’s piss."

Katherine: Katherine pressed a damp cloth to Shola’s feverish brow, the scent of blood and antiseptic herbs sharp in her nostrils. *Colette did this for wounded scouts.* "Save your breath," she murmured, tucking the wolf-fur blanket tighter. "You’ll need it to curse him when we storm Teaworah."

Shola: Her grip slackened, eyes drifting shut as Sheba nudged her uninjured shoulder. *Warmth… wolf breath…* "Storm?" Shola whispered, a weak grin playing on her lips. "Tell Vortigern…" She coughed violently. "...I’ll piss on his throne."

Katherine: Katherine brushed sweat-dampened hair from Shola's forehead, her fingers lingering on the fever heat. *Colette taught me this—cool water on pulse points.* "You'll piss *through* his throne," she murmured, dipping the cloth into basil-scented water. "After we melt it down."

Narrator: Katherine let Shola fall into a sleep and instructed Sheba to not leave her side. She left the healers tent and went in search of Lira.