>>6317241<span class="mu-g">“We know,” Rubida sighs, “but we would never stay put while our leader is in grave danger. We need your help to contact Ibardo Delebasse.”</span>
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Carnaval tilts her head in that quizzical way, like a bird that’s trying to understand a riddle by looking at it at a different angle.
It would be comical if this were not the Messenger of Ansàrra. Rubida clenches her fist, the one holding the piece of armour.
And Argia dealt with such monsters with—with what kind of ease?
She misses her terribly.
<span class="mu-i">Curse you, Candente.</span> For making her heart beat so fast, for binding her so closely—her, who as a future Sunwell Knight would need her heart bound only to Her sun.
“I have spoken to him already,” she huffs, puffing her cheeks in a way to show how delighted she is with the whole situation and with the old Master’s stubbornness. “And he told me he would not come out of his cell. He still thinks this is in the hands of Ansàrra.” She rubs her forearm as her wings crinkle closed, shielding her body. “Which it is. Argia Candente said as much.”
Rosandra displays a small smile.
“For being the head of the Order of Saint Kishirra, he has always displayed a disquieting amount of quirks,” she sighs. “Ah, youth. But I have no doubt his allegiance is as strong as a mountain.”
Rubida searches Soralisa, their gazes entwining, brown looking for her deep blue.
He knows already. And everything is in the hands of Ansàrra, as it always is.
“W-Wait,” Soralisa chirps, raising her hand which holds the horse statuette.
“What is that, child? It is a pretty little sculpture,” Carnaval tries, a glint of intrigue flashing in her golden eyes. “Where did you find it?”
“It comes from the Thronelands.”
[cont.]
