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smile
curved Vaan’s lips. The answer was as good as a commitment as any. He trusted
Saran’s heart and was sure Kaban would remain strong under his brother’s
leadership. “I agree, brother. What of the Council? Your letter mentioned their
desire to meet with me in the morning tide.” Though Vaan would love to avoid
them, he knew they played an important part for Kaban.
    “They would not
speak freely with me.” Saran sighed, glancing around the room before facing
Vaan. His voice lowered further. “They have not replaced your uncle Dakar’s
seat yet.”
    Vaan resisted the
urge to spit on the floor signaling his disgust with the man he’d once shared a
bloodline with. “Continue. What more do they seek with me?” Because Vaan knew
nothing was ever simple with the five member Council. Or four, at least, until
they selected the new Councilor.
    “I can not guess
the minds of men who think with trickery,” Saran admitted.
    As Vaan feared, it
sounded as if the Council had not changed their ways. “I will deal with them in
the morn when they arrive.”
    Vaan got to his
feet. Rest called to him and he would not delay. If all went as planned, he’d
be on his way home to his mate in two days time and that bolstered Vaan’s
spirit unlike any celebration ever could. “Tomorrow.”
         Saran nodded
but his attention wondered to a woman bending over to pick up a fallen dish.
The servant’s blue dress pulled tight across her full rounded buttocks. Vaan
shook his head in amusement and left the hall with minimum fuss.
         Vaan’s boot
clad feet stomped across the polished stone floor as memories overtook him. He
paced where Councilor Raiden had once stood and accused Vaan of murder.
Shoulders tight, Vaan glared into empty space. The Councilors would arrive in
the morn to recognize Vaan as the Overlord once more. He did not look forward
to the visit and the trickery they’d speak from their bitter mouths.
         Vaan leaped
up the steps of the curved gleaming wood stair case, passing a sleeping Eatan
on the first landing. The Warlord would regret his heavy drinking in the
morning. Vaan kept going and slowed when his feet approached the room he’d once
claimed as his own. He opened the door and paused. The space gleamed with its
spotless interior, the air scented with the heavy musk oils Vaan once favored.
          Walking
further into the room, he closed the door behind him and wondered when he’d
actually stopped thinking of this as home. Vaan crossed the rug covered floors
as thoughts crowded his mind. His steps led him to the main wall directly
opposite his bed. This wall represented his life’s work. Or used to.
          The
collection of weapons remained as he’d left them. Mounted on the wall with
precision and sharpened to a deadly edge, each blade was a handcrafted masterpiece
of swordsmanship. Nine of the finest swords rested side by side, seventeen
daggers with detailed hilts in intricate designs and five battle axes hung on
specially created hooks. Vaan traced a finger over the hilt of one of the
simpler knives. The hammered silver edge with its jagged teeth had served him
well in many battles.
         Vaan turned
away, the sight filling him with melancholy. The room he shared with Mikayla at
the Raasa compound smelled of flowers and berries. Her laughter lingered on the
air even when she wasn’t there and despite his complaints and threats, the sole
window often let in the bright shine of the day’s sun when she parted the
curtains.
        He sighed. As
the Overlord, loneliness often sat as his companion but things had changed and
he had Mikayla and their unborn young in his life now. Vaan missed her. With a
frustrated growl, he loosened the tie in his hair and let its length slide over
his shoulders. He stripped from his chest harness and rested his sword on the
upholstered chairs by the massive fireplace with its empty blaze. He considered
lighting it but the cool feel of the room