I P O M O E A
He turns to the chestnut, and for half a heartbeat their eyes meet and the entire castle around them seems to sigh. Ipomoea can see the green of an ivy vine curling in through the open window from the corner of his eye, a stray wind tousling its leaves until it looks like its waving at him. And something about it seems like a good sign to him - like the earth itself is content around Seir, like the plants growing on the castle walls are as comfortable with the newly-made regent as they are with the king who tends to them.
Ipomoea smiles, and holds the door to the hallway open for him.
”Allow me to walk with you there, then,” he says, and pretends to not struggle with making it a command rather than a question. ”And on the way I can tell you a little more about Novus’ current state of affairs.”
And he hopes, selfishly, fervently, that the trees will be green and bright and that the birds of the forest will be singing instead of silent. The Court has been far too still for his liking since his arrival back to Delumine; but something about the ivy creeping in through the window makes it seem like at least one, small part of it is coming back awake.
Ipomoea smiles, and holds the door to the hallway open for him.
”Allow me to walk with you there, then,” he says, and pretends to not struggle with making it a command rather than a question. ”And on the way I can tell you a little more about Novus’ current state of affairs.”
And he hopes, selfishly, fervently, that the trees will be green and bright and that the birds of the forest will be singing instead of silent. The Court has been far too still for his liking since his arrival back to Delumine; but something about the ivy creeping in through the window makes it seem like at least one, small part of it is coming back awake.
