Yvaine brought tea, and the women settled together to converse.
Nareen chattered without pause, asking this and that with bright, restless curiosity. Yvaine humored her, answering with patience and warmth. Caelith responded only now and then, her gaze drifting—again and again—toward Lady Lian.
Something was amiss.
Moments earlier, Lady Lian had wandered about the room as if idly observing, yet upon catching sight of the old wooden box upon the table, she had come to an abrupt halt, as though rooted to the spot.
The box was worn with age. Its corners had long since softened, the lacquer chipped in places, revealing the grain beneath. It was the only thing Caelith's mother had left her. She seldom used it, keeping it instead upon the table as a token of remembrance.
Lady Lian stood before it, her hand trembling faintly—reaching, yet not daring to touch.
"This… where did this come from?"
Caelith blinked, taken aback. "It was my mother's. She left it to me."
