The Stream That Remembers Nothing
The Great Hall of Aureleth Palace glittered like the inside of a cracked geode, every surface catching candlelight and throwing it back in shards of gold. Harvest banners in crimson and amber draped from the vaulted ceiling, and the scent of spiced wine mingled with crushed chrysanthemum petals scattered across the marble floor. Musicians in the gallery above coaxed a slow, stately melody from their strings, the kind meant to make conversation feel more important than it was.
Zaria stood near a pillar carved with climbing ivy, a goblet of watered wine in her hand that she had no intention of drinking, and let the noise of the court wash over her like rain against stone.
"Lady Zaria." The voice belonged to Countess Vellith, a woman whose smile had been perfected over decades of practice into something that resembled warmth without possessing any of its substance. "How lovely to see you out. It's been, what, a full season since anyone glimpsed you at a gathering of consequence?"
"I've been occupied," Zaria said, and let the words settle exactly where they fell, offering nothing more.
"Occupied." The countess exchanged a glance with her companion, a younger woman with sharp eyes…
