would know," Liessira says, measuring every word as she would a rare and expensive spice, "if it is true that the Qenaren have lied to us over these long centuries. If it is true, as Warlord Tavaien said, and later the Red Hawk, that the wraiths are but fools' visions. There is a tale in this somewhere, Caeric, a betrayal, a misunderstanding. And has this not been the eternal province of bards, tellers of tales, discoverers of truths, conscience made song?"
She finishes her own bowl of rice, then adds, "I think it would be no great peril for you to journey to Qenar and find out the truth from some distance. I have never heard it said of the Qenaren that they are inhospitable to guests; nay, they too have their music, though I find it strange to my ears. If you could then give word to Tonar, or to one of my agents in Avrezin, of the truth as you see it--that would be a welcome gift, and one for which I might offer some gift in exchange, did you find anything to your liking."
Soberly, after hearing any reponses, she rises; Daverris rises as well, a great foreboding upon his face. Liessira says, "I would do poorly to keep you from your sleep. Tonar, my servant will send for you when the hour is right. Caeric, should you wish the same, call for any of my servants in the halls and they will arrange what is needed. Elsewise, I would be honored to hear your answers, singly or doubly, in the morning--or later, if you need more time. But I cannot tarry overlong, and I hope you appreciate this." With that, she leaves the room, escorted by Daverris.
Candle image provided by Clipart Castle.