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to silence Irkhir’s greeting as she walked right by him and up to the dra head that was now divided, each half set on one of two massive stone doors where there was once only a wall.
    Irkhir’s head bowed reverently as she passed, but the sidelong glare he shot Thaniel told him he was going to wish he hadn’t witnessed the leader of the First being snubbed so casually.
    Lisella Ontar was usually the picture of noble composure itself. Now she stood leaning precariously to one side as if drunk. Her mouth was open, face completely flushed, and her chest heaved in and out like she had run all the way from her quarters. She was absent-mindedly tracing her fingers along the cranial ridges of the dra’s head. Her hair, which had been intricately tied with a crown of red ribbons, now looked more like a bloody bird nest. As was the custom for the Festival of the Caller, her normal red weave tunic had been exchanged for flowing crimson robes. The ice cold draft sweeping down from the dark chamber was just strong enough that her silky garments rippled lazily. Earlier the bright red silk made him think of an ice blossom, like the one he had given Elycia that was now ground into the stone floor. Now her festival attire reminded him of flowing blood. 
    Thaniel swallowed.
    She shook her head as if to snap herself back into reality and regarded him with the slightest incline of her head. Her green eyes seemed to weigh his every inch instantly and Thaniel got the feeling she wasn’t the least bit impressed. Even with the icy breeze in his face Thaniel suddenly felt like he needed more air.
    “What is his name?” Lisella wasn’t talking to him.
    “Thaniel. One of the messengers, my Mistress.” Irkhir answered. 
    “Thaniel.” She repeated to herself, committing his name to memory. The whites of her eyes registered something far beyond amazement, past even shock, as she stared back and forth between him and the split dra head.
    Thaniel had been a slave for seven years and yet even as one of the hold’s messengers had still maintained a relatively low profile, especially not attracting the attention of any of the nobles who ran the hold. Slaves that garnered the attention of such folk tended to get beat. Or dead. Now in one morning he had managed to gain one of the First as an enemy, and if that weren’t enough, Lisella Ontar herself now stood staring at him not ten feet away and memorizing his name. Great.
    “Look at me boy.” She instructed. “Do you know what this means?” She gestured at the open door and into the chamber beyond.
    Nobles… She didn’t use his name after all.  Now how was he supposed to answer a question like that? He had no idea what he had done to the dra carving to make it do what it did.
    “I didn’t mean to Mistress, I swear.” He stammered, shaking his head vigorously.
    “You really have no idea what you are.” She reached a hand up to his cheek and smiled. If he didn’t know better he’d swear she felt sorry for him.
    Lisella Ontar turned toward the open chamber and walked inside, her crimson robes flowing like blood in the ice cold breeze. The woman covered her face in her hands, looking a whole lot like she was wiping tears. She took a deep breath. Her head tilted up, the picture of nobility and grace. When her hands returned to her sides, they were clenched in fists.
    She spun back around with a smile full of white teeth. If she had been crying there wasn’t any trace of that woman left.
    “My people.” Her voice was filled with command. This was the Lisella Ontar he knew.  “Today is a special day.” She looked right at him, eyes as cold as the night. “There will be no more processional. The Dra has spoken. It has named Thaniel, the Caller of the Dra.”
    The crowd shrunk back in a surge.
    Lisella Ontar strode forward and lifted him off the stone. She grasped one of his hands and thrust it onto the air like he’d won a prize.
    “Tonight, because of Thaniel, you celebrate the