It’s dark inside. There’s a sputtering candle in one corner, but the large windows are shut, the casement shutters closed. Very little light streams in. In the bed, a beautiful older woman with russet hair lies staring at the ceiling.
“My lady Magra,” the queen says in a gentle voice. “An honored guest wished to meet you. Lord Aron of the Storms has arrived and brought his anchor with him. She has a message from one of your most loyal followers.”
The woman in the bed makes a sound like a sigh.
I hesitate, not sure what else to do. The moment we walked in and I saw her in the rumpled bed, I knew what this was. It’s not arrogance, it’s not lies. It’s apathy. No wonder Halla has been so wary. I thought Hedonism would be the worst Aspect to visit given my experience with Tadekha, but clearly I see it’s this one. Just being in her presence is depressing. I look around the room, and sitting in a chair in the dark is another woman, an older one, her face hollow, her expression tired. She has a blanket in her lap and looks nearly as worn down as the woman she’s serving—because this has to be her anchor.
“Greetings,” I say, inwardly wincing at my own too-cheery tone. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lady Magra. I met a monk of yours a few months ago, a man by the name of Omos. Do you know him?”
She fixes her gaze on me, and her eyes are just…blank. Bored. “So?”
So?
“He was very excited at the thought of your arrival in this world,” I lie. Didn’t Omos say something like this would happen? He knew, somehow. He didn’t want to meet her because he didn’t want to see her like this. At the time I thought he was just being a little fearful. Now I think he was right. Even so, I’ve carried his message this far and I want to deliver it for his sake. He’s my friend. “Omos sent along a message should I meet you in my journeys.” I hold the scroll out, the precious scroll I’ve protected over miles and miles, because I owed it to Omos. I’m almost reluctant to hand it over.
Magra doesn’t reach for it. She simply looks at it, then looks at me, and rolls over in bed and faces the wall.
The queen grimaces.
Oh. I clutch the scroll for a moment longer, wondering if I should hold onto it or leave it anyhow. I try to think of what Omos would want. Maybe…maybe this Aspect of Magra won’t care enough to see it, but perhaps the next one will? I set it down on the table next to the bed. “I’m just gonna set it here, for whenever you feel like reading it.” When there’s no answer, I add, “He was a really good man, you know. One of the best I’ve ever met. I hope you’ll see that…”
The goddess doesn’t respond. She simply stares at the wall and I want to reach over and shake her. To tell her I know she’s not sleeping because Aron doesn’t sleep.
As I hesitate by the bed, the queen moves to the woman by the window. She takes the thin, veined hand in hers and leans by the woman. “Do you need anything?” Her voice is soft, gentle.
The old woman—the anchor—shakes her head. She closes her eyes. “Tired.”
Queen Halla pats her hand and sets it down gently on the blanket once more, then straightens and nods at me, indicating we should leave. I follow her out, and I feel like I can’t breathe until we shut the door behind us and head down the stairs.
“That…sucked,” I eventually manage.
“It has been difficult,” the queen admits. “We were overjoyed to be blessed as a kingdom, but we soon realized it was not as we expected. Her presence here has been both joy and pain. With her here, our stores never run dry. They are magically replenished every evening and it allows us to feed all of the people who have fled here seeking safety from the Adassians.” She touches my arm. “But…she has drained three anchors already.”
I swallow hard, thinking of the hollow cheeks of the woman in the room with her. “She’s using her powers to replenish your stores.”
“Yes. Once we realized what she was doing, we asked her to stop but…she simply doesn’t care.” Halla’s lips purse. “Those that volunteer to serve as her anchor know it is