"Dear Brother," Elara purred softly, "a talking vulture statue. How delightfully absurd."
Elarion's lips curved in a rare, genuine smile. "Absurd, yes. But effective. I wonder if he'll yawn at the commoners."
Elara giggled, pressing her breast more firmly against his arm. "If he yawns at that Nightshade boy, I'll buy him a feather duster as thanks."
Ela Voss smiled to herself—small, fond.
"He's funny," she whispered. "Like a children's story come to life. I hope he's kind when he measures."
Professor Elowen raised one elegant hand for silence.
"Enough chatter. Sir Lano, if you please—begin."
Ricor's crystal flared bright blue.
"Ohhh, splendid! Let's see, let's see… who shall be first to bare their mana soul to Ricor De Lano?"
Ricor's crystal pulsed lazily, scanning the lines with those empty, twinkling sockets. The hall had fallen into a tense, expectant hush after his cheerful introduction.
Then the vulture head suddenly swiveled—beak pointing like an accusing finger.
