Flight of Fiction (8a)

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Enilor was seized in a fit of giggles, holding her sides and rocking back on forth on her spot on the hearth.

“Hoo, I’d forgotten about that bit!” she said once she calmed down again. “I thought you were a Sprite, you see—and I didn’t recognize you.”

Ameryn raised an eyebrow, a stifled smile sitting on the corner of her mouth. “Sure, Enilor, sure.”

“It was dark,” Enilor countered, indignantly.

Ameryn shook her head a reached down to gently ruffle Enilor’s greying hair. “No permanent damage done, love.”

They were silent for a while, staring into the flames again. Enilor shifted restlessly.

“It’s too quiet here, Ammy. How do you stand it?”

“You only say that because you’re used to nine voices chattering at once all hours of the day.”

“Well doesn’t Amythyst chatter?”

“She’s always been a quiet girl,” Ameryn said with a smile. “Not one for crowds, and very fond of peace and quiet. Zon and I are so busy during the day, dealing with this lord or that, sending messages and issuing edicts, talking with people all day long, that we relish the quiet that this part of the castle offers. If you want noise and activity, it’s all downstairs.”

At that moment, the chamber door flew open, letting in a young woman with a cloud of white-blond hair, her eyes sparkling with excitement at the message she bore.

“Mother!” she said breathlessly, jumping up and down and pointing wildly towards the stairwell.

“What is it, dearest?” Ameryn said, rising from her seat.”

“Mother, they’re here! They’re here!”

“Who?”

“Lord Nacjar, Lady Narina, Jerec, Jaran, and Adina!”

Ameryn hurried towards the door. “Goodness! A full-blown family reunion! Enilor, did you know about this?”

“Maybe,” Enilor said with a chuckle, bounding after the queen as she ran down the stairs. 

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