[Amanaduial the archer]

Zamara mused on Siamak's dark opinion and nodded, satisfied. So it is not just me who feels there is something wrong around this man...

"As long as we are out here, I would ask your own opinion of the Emissary. Since I requested your reason, I will give you mine. I want to know if my mistrust is unfounded, and whether I should be more open-minded of him, for though my opinion is strong I do not like to make unfounded decisions."

Zamara laughed quietly, but not mockingly, and her eyes glittered in the moonlight. "You ask the advice of the High Priestess? Unusual for yourself, Prince Siamak," she replied softly. Siamak blushed slightly and looked away, but only for a moment, and when he looked back his eyes were serious once more. He is taking it seriously - he is taking the Emissary quite seriously, and myself. I wonder would Gjeelea do the same?

Zamara sighed softly and pirouetted her staff around on the stone floor of the courtyard corridor as she looked out above the garden to the sky above it, her expression thoughtful, but still made distant, almost alien, by the strange makeup. Siamak was a regular worship, but she guessed that he went more out of duty than devotion: he didn't seem to feel ties to either deity, and went more to the shrines or the Oblisk than to the great temples. Unlike Gjeelea: Tarkan had already made the point to Zamara several times that the Princess was a worshipper of Rea over Rhais, and worshipped at the sky god's temple rather than Zamara's own. She realised she was subconciously stacking up the two royal children against one another and cleared the decks. She had not meant to test Siamak. Well, only a little... "I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable," she apologised, her voice sincere but warm as she flicked her eyes over towards him. "As for the Emissary…” she looked back out at the stars uncomfortably. “I am not sure I am comfortable with him either, Prince Siamak, in the same way as you. I find him hard to understand – but then, the nobles…I live in a different world much of the time; I am sheltered from political life, although that does not mean I do not know enough about the realities of it.” She saw Siamak raise his eyebrows, evidently surprised. She smiled secretively. That is right, young prince, I am not utterly cut off from the real world because I worship the Goddess… She continued. “But there is indeed a, how did you put it, a ‘sinister’ air about him. He has slipped up, yes, and this is easily forgivable, for who knows what it is like in the West – but I cannot help but feel that maybe his mistakes are not as accidental as he would have us believe. And your father…”

A sudden breeze stirred up the leaves around Zamara’s feet and she stepped back suddenly like a shying horse, surprised by the sudden movement. She would not have thought much about it, had it not been for the topic of conversation – and after all, they were at the edge of an enclosed courtyard. A chill crept up her neck and her bare arms goose-pimpled once more as she fought the sudden urge to look around. Siamak noticed and, gentlemanly, he stepped forward, reaching a hand out to her shoulder. “Priestess, it is chilly outside: maybe we should return to the company if you are cold.”

Zamara felt strangely pleased by the way the boy reached considerately towards her, but as she turned towards him he recoiled slightly, as if afraid of touching her. Zamara smiled sadly: he was still half afraid, unsure of the Priestess’ unworldly side that lay with the gods. She jutted her chin up determinedly and her eyes glittered brightly, caught between moonlight and lamplight, and the blue in them was brought out behind the silver and orange fire. “My interest must lie with the gods, Prince Siamak, but you must remember the gods are tied in with everything in Pashtia, as well your mother knows and respects. And when the Emissary entered the city, despite the splendour and obvious magnificence and importance of the statues of Rhais and Rea…they paid them no heed whatsoever.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she spoke furtively with her face close to Siamak’s. “I am not sure it bodes well.”

With a quick nod in his direction, Zamara clutched her staff tightly and left briskly, back towards the great hall where the guests feasted, leaving Siamak to follow or to muse on his – and her – thoughts.