THE END OF MAN IS KNOWLEDGE
Lyr has rehearsed this moment hundreds of times in his own mind. He has stood before a mirror and practiced his expressions; he has told himself, again and again, exactly what he would say and how. Yet when the grand door opens and he knows—yes he knows, because he feels the weight of her gaze, the way it flits over him in what he is certain is a dismissive catalogue of his nondescript features—none of the rehearsals matter. Marisol, the Sovereign, stands on the other side.
Lyr hears her sigh without seeing the gesture. Welcome. And the door creaks wider.
He raises his eyes. He exhales. Look her in the face. (He will never understand why every command he has ever given himself sounds as if it is in his father’s voice.) Lyr does so. He takes in her steel-grey eyes, her dark face, and thinks how terribly lonely it must be, to be the Sovereign of an entire Court. Lyr bows, fully, placing his knee on the ground before her. “Sovereign.” It is a statement full of devotion; Lyr, who has lived many lies, cannot live this as a lie. No. He means it. And then he rises.
Lyr measures his tone. With polite tenseness he states precisely, “Thank you.” And nothing more.
The white and grey stallion enters with the same silence of winter. For a man with red eyes, there ought to be something enflamed, impassioned about them; but when he regards the citadel, it is with the unimpassioned, pragmatic expression of a chess player.
Lyr steels himself. He imagines very placidly Susurro fields. He imagines the grass that flows and bobs like the sea, and he centers himself there, on those nonviolent, but raging waves. Lyr turns to Marisol again; he sees himself as a soldier, poised and diplomatic. He clears his throat.
“Sovereign, I requested your audience in order to ask you consider me for a spy position for Terrastella.” This is where Lyr’s careful recitation’s come into play. A man typically so awkward, so stiff, allows briefly for the passion of work to enter his tone. “I have served as a soldier in your Court for nearly two years, and although Novus is relatively peaceful at this point in time… it’s never a bad idea to have eyes and ears where you need them, or think you may one day. My father was a monk in Delumine, and because of that we travelled often to learn of other Courts. He took me with him, hoping I would follow in his footsteps, and because of this I’m familiar with the practices and beliefs of Novus.”
To hear his voice emerge so strong and clear surprises him. Lyr’s eyes seek out Marisol’s; although he nearly trembles with the strain of it. Lyr knows it is the first step. Lyr knows there is a chance she denies him, or questions him further, but it is the only way.
I HEARD THEM SPEAKING OF PERENNIAL QUIET
I HEARD THEM SAY THAT SORROW IS JUST HAPPINESS
AT A DIFFERENT DESTINY, A DIFFERENT COLOURED LIGHT
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