The Menodice stood in a wide circle before him, silent and unmoving.

They had not moved as he'd brought Nux into land, or when he'd sent her off again to graze in the darkened forest across the breach. They had not moved when he'd walked slowly towards them, or when he'd come to a stop in the centre and stared straight ahead, waiting.

He knew he would not have to wait long. And sure enough, a short time later, the ground began to rumble and shake beneath him as the great stone doors of the Court of the Moon opened slowly.

The Menodice parted to reveal the lone figure of Ismene the Primed standing between the stone gates. She regarded him from where she stood —hands clasped together in front in the traditional stance —before she began to walk toward him, her head held high and proud.

There was the merest suggestion of a smile upon her full mouth, her hair the colour of a raven's wing hanging long and loose past her hips and contrasting starkly with the white gown she wore.

Like the rest of The Twelve, she appeared beautiful; fine features and smooth skin, and a luminous sheen to her marble grey eyes — eyes which would transform to pure white upon her ascendency. Her true form was somewhat less exquisite; his all-sight allowing him a glimpse of it now and then as it flickered and shimmered across her face. Since it took some effort to see past her projected guise however, he simply accepted the pretence she offered him.

She came to a stop a short distance away and drew her eyes over him, and he scented a burst of lust spark from her; potent and sweet as it spread across his tongue. She let the silence stretch on between them and because he knew well the punishment for speaking first, could already feel it pressing against his temples, testing his submission — he held his tongue.

'We have been waiting for you, Theodan of Teredia,' she said after many moments.'You will not cause too much trouble, I hope?' Her voice was soft and sweet and yet it scraped like talons across the inside of his skull. He felt weakened from it.

'I will not,' he replied, flicking his eye to the guard.

She smiled. 'A pity, for I am certain I would enjoy punishing you for such misdeeds.'

He detected a measure of flirtation in her words and tried to measure his response accordingly.

'My misdeeds are yours to judge, Primed.'

Her smile deepened. 'Then perhaps I shall yet have my opportunity?' She gave him a lingering glance before turning on her heel and walking back toward the gates. She did not need to command him to follow behind her, he simply did so. Through the stone doors and up the steps of the great entrance before stopping just inside. 'You will relinquish your weapons before we enter,' she ordered without looking at him. A Menodice stepped forward and he stopped to remove his belt and sword before continuing inside to where she waited just under the canopy for him.

Walking again she turned left and he followed her down the east corridor which took them beyond the judging chamber and toward the quarters of The Twelve. She turned left once more after they passed under The First Arch, and he was soon distracted by the sight and sound of her skirts swishing softly against the polished marble and the silken black of her hair moving to and fro against the smooth pale skin of her back.

His mind filled unbidden with thoughts of Fara, her sweet scent pushing into his mind, the loose sound of pleasure as it pushed from her throat. He imagined tracing his tongue up the ridge of her spine, of plunging his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck as he took her from behind, as she cried out in both pleasure and pain.

'As entertaining as they are, warrior, you may wish to quieten your desires. They are loud enough to waken the Dark One from his slumber.' The Primed did not turn to look at him but there was a smile in her voice.

Faintly ashamed, he forced his mind to think of something else and called forth instead the memory of the battle for Azura, specifically of the day he stormed the Golden Palace and brought the Crown Prince to his knees. When the Primed made a soft, surprised sound, he tried to clear his mind entirely.

The air grew sweeter the deeper they went into the maze of corridors of the court, warmer too, the sound of soft music growing louder with each step. When they came upon the polished wooden doors of the quarters of The Twelve, Ismene paused, before a few heartbeats later the doors were pulled open from the inside by two Alskaar.

The two males wore nothing but loose leg coverings of black silk, their chests and feet bare, and their eyes sated from pleasure and well as the soft incense burning within the chamber itself. The Alskaar were the courtesans of The Twelve. Menodice trained not for battle but for pleasure. It was a position envied by many males throughout the realm certainly, but not by him. Mindless, soft, oiled men — the only Menodice permitted to keep their tongues. He looked quickly from them and into the chamber beyond, hesitant to enter without permission.

He glanced at Ismene who was watching him closely, her eyes lit now with something warm and mischievous almost, yet with a sharpness to them that told him she was more than merely physically present.

'Come in, Theodan of Teredia,' called a chorus of feminine voices from within.

Sliding his eyes from The Primed, he stepped hesitantly over the threshold and into the chamber and was suddenly face to face with the remaining eleven anointed of the Visier's inner council.

They sat or lay in varying positions on large cushions scattered across the stepped seating area and appeared otherwise distracted.
Some toyed with the lengths of another's hair, some ate small rounds of plated yellow-fruit, some drank blackwine from glass cups, and two read from small leather-bound books. The Visier, he noted, was not in attendance. The doors closed softly behind him and The Primed moved to take her place upon the cushioned dais between her sisters.

When a breeze blew past him he glanced to his side to see a terrace open out on the far side of the room. Layers of sheer curtain danced lightly against the wind, offering him a glimpse of the Zilphan Mountains beyond. By the opening a lone Alskaar sat strumming a Zari, his eyes closed and his hands moving gentle and sure across the wooden stringed instrument.

He should not be here.

Only The Twelve and the Alskaar were permitted inside these quarters. Atuned to his thoughts, the Twelve shifted their positions and turned their attention fully upon him. It had a rather disquieting effect on him, to have all twelve pairs of pale eyes fixed solely upon him then, searching.

He felt their power curl around him; sliding up his spine and around his throat, threading through his fingers and encircling his wrists, pressing upon his groin and pinning his feet to the floor. They were Leothine, cursed as he was, but their curse had been honed and sharpened into something more, something frightening and curious. Here in this dimly lit chamber they appeared not like Leothine at all, but sylph-like. Not quite of flesh or bone, not quite of this world. Each dressed in thin gossamer-like silk, each with their hair unbound, each with their pale glowing eyes pressed against his hot skin. A symphony of sirens.

'The High One is at her entreaty and will be with us soon,' the Primed informed him.

'Then I am humbled to enjoy your company until then, Twelve.' He bowed his head towards them, deferent.

He tried to keep his thoughts colourless and quiet as they continued to stare, their eyes wide and keen and their heads tilted like a line of pretty birds. It felt insolent to stare back and so he lowered his eyes from them. Almost immediately he felt the air change, felt the base of his skull begin to pound and throb with their warm intrusion. It felt like a steady painless bleeding.

The power of them was almost suffocating.

'Your father once stood before us as you do now, as guilty as you are now,' The Primed said, cutting through the thick silence. 'I wonder if you shall meet his end?' Her tone was easy and conversational but it held something more. This Primed had not yet been born when his father stood before them. But of course she did not mean that she had witnessed his testimony, only that she was aware of it. As most of Leoth was aware of it.

'I am not my father.'

Another of her small smiles. 'No? For I see little difference... both of you flaunt the laws of this court and this realm as though you are above both.'

He lifted his head and met the Primed's eye. They were hard like glass, white like marble.

'On the contrary. I am here to seek absolution and counsel from those I place above my own insignificance.'

'As your father claimed to do before you. Tell us, will you too tell us that you did what you did for love?'

He stiffened. 'I will not.'

He would speak nothing of love here, before her.

'Then you will offer us lies and half-truths as you did our council?'

'I have told no lies.'

A soft rich laugh peeled from her throat. 'Such insolence, even now. You are a remarkable male, it is true.'

'It is not insolence, Ismene,' he said, irritated by her obtusity. 'It is obeisance. I have come here of my own free will have I not? To accept whatever punishment The Visier deems to deliver me.' His veiled remark had the desired effect, for Ismene's mouth curled disdainfully as she leaned forward in her seat.

'Oh, and you shall be punished, warrior. Your guilt and regret for all you have done will be so great that you shall be brought to your knees from the force of it.'

The hairs across the back of his neck lifted and tilted while he felt something dark and foreboding twist in his chest, a warning.

'Then I shall accept my punishment gladly and without protest.'

'How magnanimous of you,' she preened.

Theodan glanced around the space growing increasingly uncomfortable. His head had begun to fog from the air, his body softening from the heat and the probing of their minds upon his own. Their scents were unimaginably feminine, so like Fara's he thought — or perhaps it was only that her scent existed now in his mind? He longed to be gone from this place. To be outside, where the air was not so... inflamed.

'You do not enjoy our company, warrior?' Aerith this time, her eyes soft and innocent. A delicate giggle erupted from The Twelve though notably the Primed did not join them.

'I had not thought to be so honoured as to receive it, Visier Aerith. I came here only to seek the Visier's counsel and judgement.'

'And tell us, had you considered that they may take your head for what you have done?' Edea asked, leaning forward to place her head in her hand, curious.

'I had considered it.'

'What a shame it would be to lose such a pretty head do not you think, sisters?' Allisa perhaps, or Isarrel, he was not certain.

'Most certainly...' said another.

He turned his head to see Phyrra moving to stand, her luscious form draped in pale grey silk which looked liquid against her body. She descended the steps toward him slowly before another stood, Aike, and followed her sister down from the dais. They moved to circle him slowly, their hands reaching out to trail across his chest first, then lower, moving around behind, soft touches dancing up the arch of his spine.

Fara.

He thought of Fara as the fingers stroked and cooed him. This was some test, it must be. A punishment too perhaps for how easily he had taken females before, for how little it took for desire to grow within him, for how carelessly he had treated Vala's heart. Yes. They tested his devotion now, his honour, his love.

Hands trailed across his thighs and between his legs, his jaw, into his hair. His breath grew fast and hot and then he felt a voice at his ear. He closed his eyes and begged for it to end while longing for it to continue.

'Do you desire me, Theodan?' one whispered against his ear in a voice that was Fara's own he could have sworn it. 'Say yes and I shall be yours...' It breathed against him. It was not real. She was not here. She was far from here with Elyon, safe. He thought instead of her plea against his ear, his own promise against her lips.

Promise me you will come for me, promise me Theodan.

I promise you, Fara.

A tongue at his throat then and his tunic opened, lips pressed against his heated skin. It felt too...tempting, too distracting.

'Enough!' Came a voice suddenly, powerful enough to shatter the haze of desire which threatened to drown him. He blinked open his eyes to find the High Visier standing now inside the chamber. The anointed, all twelve of them, were sitting quite visibly upon their cushions, all fully clothed — watching him innocently.

A mind trick. Of course it was.

He felt the pressure ease from the base of his skull, the haze lifting.

'He is not one of your Alskaari,' the High One chastised.

'Yes Visier,' they replied in unison.

'Not yet,' mused The Primed, a cruel smile on her face. 'But the council may yet impose such a punishment upon a disloyal commander of the realm.'

The Visier levelled here gaze at her. 'The Primed would do well to consider that while some rise, others surely fall, and our counsel and compassion should always extend to both. So that all might yet find their way back into His grace.'

Ismene raised an eyebrow and arched her mouth into a sweet smile. 'Of course, High One,' she said, bowing her head. 'Your beneficence is a lesson to all.'

'And yours is so often absent, Primed.'
As the Visier held her eye the air grew dreadfully taught. 'Twelve, you shall depart and commit yourselves to thought and quiet reflection for the rest of this moon.'

'Yes Visier,' they said again and rose to begin filing quietly from the room, hands clasped and heads lowered.

In single file they descended the stairs and disappeared out through a curtained doorway to the left of the dais. As she passed him, the Primed threw a sharp glare in Theodan's direction, the weight of her disdain a heavy load upon his chest.

When the Visier turned to him, he thought he saw regret etched into the corners of her silver eyes, her mouth curved with a soft note of sadness.

'Then it is done,' she said.  It was not a question but he replied as though it was.

'It is,' he nodded.

'Then all is as it will be...'

'Visier, I come to seek your forgiveness for what I have done. From you alone as I no longer trust those tasked with the interests of this realm to be true in their path.' And there he had spoken it. His great treason. She could have him arrested at once for it and so he waited silently for her to decide upon his fate.

'Walk with me, Son of Ishilde' she said, surprising him, for her tone was almost as though he had not spoken at all. 'The Moon Garden shall be more pleasing.' She did not wait for him to follow as she turned and exited the chamber by way of the terrace and proceeded out along the walkway which ran the length of The Twelve's quarters towards the gardens.

He followed her along an immaculate ingress carved into the side of the building, enclosed from a sheer drop further than his eye could see, by a low ornate balcony. The elegant marble balustrade was wrapped in bright green Ielk, its fragrant flowers in full bloom — out of character for the season — the scent of them flooding his nose pleasantly as they went.

Each of the Twelve gardens of the Court was known for their rich manicured beauty, and it was toward the enviable Moon Garden that the Visier went now. From the large circular esplanade, three skyways shot out in opposite directions, all leading to the array of gardens used exclusively by the court. Four of the court gardens could be found on the western front of the mountain across the walkway, four to the north, and four to the east.

Turning west, he followed her along the floating marble bridge which brought them then to the Garden of the Moon, a well-tended arch of Lyrian flower and Nenyak vine framing the entrance. As they stepped off the warm polished marble onto the path, the silence was disturbed by the soft crunch of the small rosestones beneath his feet. Only when they had gone but a little way into the garden did she speak again.

'I was of The Twelve when your father came to confess he and Ishilde's great sin,' said the Visier as they walked further on, past a small pool with a carved bird-bath set in the centre of it. 'He had always been proud, Quillan of Teredia, too proud, but he was a different male upon that moon it is sure.'

Theodan felt the familiar burn of shame rise up inside him. He had no desire to hear of this, of his father's sins and his mother's fall. Might he never outrun them? Would they always haunt him?

'Their transgression discovered, he begged us punish him not Ishilde,' she went on. 'Tears shone like stars in his eyes such was the depth of his love for her then, such was his guilt at what would now befall her — for he had been shown.' She stopped and turned her head up toward the moon. 'Just as you have been shown.'

Theodan frowned. 'What have I been shown, Visier?'

'But, of course, both were required to pay the price — for we all must pay the price.' She continued again as she had before, as though she did not hear him. 'Just as you too shall pay the price.'

'Visier, when this is done, I shall pay whatever price you demand of me — be it my freedom or my name or my head — I shall surrender it gladly, but I beg you exile me until then. For I have made a promise I must keep.'

She stopped walking then, turning her head to him over her shoulder, she smiled, sadly. 'But of course you have.'

'I did not make these decisions lightly,' he admitted. 'My very soul felt torn asunder by the force of it.'

'Yes childe, for I felt your torment as though it was my own.'

'Then you understand I had no choice?'

'There is always a choice.' The words tickled some faded memory, dust-covered and obscured from him in an old chest. She had said them to him before, but when? He blinked, rummaging around his mind for the answer, but just when he thought he'd caught it, it escaped him, elusive. 'The choices you have made, the choice you have made this day, the choices you will make in the days to come, seal the fates of those you love — you must understand this.'

He shook his head, confused. 'Visier, I made my choice. I chose her.' There was no apology in his tone, or regret. He felt the rightness in what he had done.

She sighed. 'Though you have the sight of Gods, you do not see... but you will. Soon you will see all.' Her voice was heavy as she moved toward the low marble bench and took a seat upon it, turning to stare out across the valley below. Some time passed before she spoke again.

'Your mother was the greatest of us,' she said quietly. 'And yet she was destroyed by love.'

'My father was unworthy of it.' He replied darkly.

'It is not your father of which I speak, childe.'

He turned to her with a question in his eyes. Ishilde had given up everything for his father, for an unworthy male who'd turned from her and sought refuge in darkwine and other females instead. An unworthy male who'd taken her from the court and spurned her when she needed him. As she'd mourned the death of her daughter and saw only destruction in her dark-eyed son he'd abandoned her to loneliness and grief.

'I speak of you, Theodan,' said the Visier. It was the first time he had ever heard her speak his given name and so distracted was he by it that he did not detect the shadow which moved with an assassins grace along the shadow line. 'Ishilde's love for her children was her destruction. It was grief which destroyed her — grief at what would be — for she saw all. The end of it all. The beginning of it all.'

It hit him without warning. As though it was pushed at him from another's mind, a vision—nay, a consciousness— an awareness which did not belong to him, powerful and loud. He fell to his knees upon the stone as heat and light and noise tore through his mind, screeching like carrion as it went. It was wrong. All of it. It bore no sight or sound or familiarity. Shoving the heels of his hands against his eyes, he tried to suppress it, force it back out, repel it somehow.

As he lifted his head to plead the Visier he saw the figure come toward them, swift and silent as though it was made purely of shadow, a black smoke which moved too quick for the eye to consider. He tried to call out, to stand, but his legs felt loose and unwieldy and his voice a strange absent thing and so he could neither. The Visier did not look alarmed as she rose from the bench and came to where he knelt upon the stone.

As the assassin drew their sword, she raised her arm and flicked her wrist backward throwing out a shard of pure bright light which hit the shadow in its centre, knocking it back onto the stones and it's sword flying through the air. It hit the marble and tumbled over the wall of the garden and disappeared down into the depths below. Reaching his side, the Visier knelt before him.

'There is less time than I thought, Son of Ishilde,' she told him. 'You must accept this gift before it is too late.'

'Visier... not... now,' he managed. 'Cannot you see we are under attack?' He shook his head and tried again to stand, managing with difficulty to raise himself up but still the world tilted and flickered dimly around him.

Dark One, please. Send me your strength now. Help me protect her.

He thought of Fara, of being unable to keep his promise to her, of leaving her behind as war raged around her. She would never know why he had not come and the notion cleaved his heart in two.

Forgive me, my love. Please forgive me.

He could see the cloaked figure shake off what the Visier had thrown and begin to rise once more, and so he prepared for the attack with his claws full and his teeth bared despite the weakness still clinging to his body.  He could tell not whether it was Leothine or human, mortal or other, but its eyes shone bright like only his own or a Visier's could and as it began to move again toward them he noticed that it made no sound whatsoever.

He reached out and gripped the Visier to manoeuvre her behind him. 'Stay behind me, Visier,' he ordered her in a low hiss.

An instant later another blast of light flew from over his shoulder, which the assassin sidestepped to elude. The third burst caught it squarely in the chest once more and the assassin was catapulted backwards and thrown against the marble bird-bath which cracked and crumbled into the pond beneath it.

Where were the guards? Why didn't the Menodice come? Who would try to attack him here? Who knew to find him here?

'Visier, please, stay behind me.' He looked around them as his vision began to return to its normal strength, his mind and body sharpening for battle finally. There was nowhere for the Visier to run for the Moon Garden was enclosed at it's end and the assassin had enclosed them from the entrance. They were trapped.

'Son of Ishilde, there is no time,' she told him, urgent. 'You must accept.'

'Accept what? Visier, please...' if only she would obey him.

'The succession, childe.'

He froze and turned to her, the threat momentarily forgotten. 'I do not understand.'

'I anoint you, Theodan of Teredia.'

'But you cannot... I am male, I am not of The Twelve... It cannot be I.' He shook his head, frightened now. The assassin did not frighten him but this did, this madness.

She only smiled. 'You are a male of honour, Theodan, borne of the only mortal soul I ever loved more than He.'

Stunned, he could only blink.

Then, in a single swift move, she switched their positions so that he was pushed behind her and she stood facing the enemy, protective. He did not see or hear it thrown but he heard the dagger plunge through her chest with a soft wet sound, the sharp steel of the blade sinking into warm giving flesh. She gasped only a small breath of surprise before she fell backward against him. He caught her in his arms and spun her away from the danger —too late, of course, far too late — covering her with his body.

When he shot a look up in preparation for its final attack, he saw the Moon Garden was empty. They were alone but for the cool scented breeze which blew all around them, but even this seemed a threat now as his vision tried to pierce the darkened corners.

Glancing down at the Visier, at the crimson daub which bloomed out from her heart and the dark blade which had pierced her chest, he let out a low growl of fury. Settling her gently upon his thighs, he slid an arm under her head and pulled her close to him The blade felt warm; he could feel its malevolent heat even without touching it, felt it's dark power. Knowing it would hurt too much to remove it, he let it be and instead offered her a soft smile he hoped was of some comfort.

'All... is as... it should... be, Ishilde,' she whispered as she smiled up at him. He thought perhaps that she had misspoken, but then he understood that no, it was her love for his mother she called forth now in her fading moments. She felt warm and cold all at once, her breathing raspy and slow. A line of crimson trickled from her mouth, a fine crack against her pale marbled skin. The light in her eyes flickered, dying.

'You must choose, Theodan,' she said weakly. 'There is.... so little time.' He heard the sound of footsteps then, distant but growing louder. The sure footing of many soldiers. Soldiers who had come too late. Soldiers who were not worthy of the guarddress they wore or the office they held. As unworthy as you, commander. Guilt slid thick and bitter into his throat.

He did not want to take his eyes from her, to leave her alone even for a moment, but he had to make this final plea to the moon, to his God.

What sort of choice is this? He asked Him. Why take her? Why not I?

'Soon you will understand... soon you will understand all,' she breathed, her thin voice stealing his attention back from the stars. 'Take my hand, son of Ishilde. It is time. It is time... Do you accept?'

'Yes, High One,' he managed, unable to deny her anything now. 'I accept.'

'I should like you to call me Thessalynn,' she smiled, her eyes brightening again for the last time. 'For it was my name once. I should like to hear it spoken one more time.'

'Thessalynn,' he repeated softly.

As his hand found hers and the world turned white, he understood. He understood it all. He remembered it all.

A battlefield strewn with the bodies of men he knew. The scream of the woman he loved birthing a child while thunder and lightning tore through the sky above. Him on his knees as he screamed his rage upward, as tears fell from his eyes and words of undying love fell from his lips. His hands and face coated with the sweetest blood he had ever tasted, claws dripping with viscous honeyed red. The slow dying ebb of his love's soul as it faded from him and passed unto the under realm. A newly born child crying out for the warmth of its mother's womb. And then, shocking and terrible, the blinding death of the day; a ferocious, hungry moon, far brighter than any he had ever seen, swallowing the sun completely.