66 Glade 123
The High Minister of the Sky Islands was a much grander sounding title than it shook out to be, not to mention it was a popular rather than official designation. Even so, there were days in which the position had benefits.
Yesterday, for instance, had delivered to him the first fully complete explanation of what was going on down in the warren's lair of the creature known as 'Lyra'. Stefan had known it must be hers, deep down in his bones, as soon as he'd stepped into the circle of filth. It hadn't been any magic on his part, it was instinct, good human intuition, just as he'd had when he'd first met her. He hesitated to even assign a gender to the thing that had, without a doubt, been responsible in some way for the destruction of his homeland. Whether she had been an agent of Kalzasi, working for her own foul purposes or a combination of the two made not a whit of difference.
A vicious smile had broken his face as he'd read late into the evening the previous night. Not only did the dossier contain all the information the Order had been able to garner at the sight and then deduce and discover later, but it also contained their suggested course of action. There were many ills in the world, and even his little corner of it, that Stefan Dornkirk could not fix, but if he could have chosen one to put to bed, it would have been this one. Thus he'd been in his laboratory long into the night using the newest info to make final adjustments to the aether net he'd been working on with the hope of imprisoning the architect of his family's fall. Perhaps, he admitted to himself as he'd closed the folder, locked his private workspace and headed home so late that Deinerin had suggested (and he had accepted) the rescheduling of his appointments on the morrow so that he might get enough sleep and spend a day with his family, that it might be wrong. Wrong to choose to contain and remove the cause of so much of his own personal pain, the object of his own hate, rather than, say, removing the Eclipse so the world would not starve. Thankfully, he did not have that power, and he did, or would, have the power to handle the one who had stolen his brother from him, figuratively, and then literally.
It was morning now, and he'd woken alone, late in the morning, in Eitan's bed, having crawled in there after discovering the ladies nestled together in his own bed. The younger man had been about his own early morning duties, but it was still nice to be surrounded by his scent. Deinerin appeared a few moments after he'd woken, somehow knowing, as always, and asking if he'd like a tray. Stefan had accepted the offer but asked that it be brought to his own suite, where he might share the meal with his wife. Even if she had been up earlier, she might still come and join him while he broke his fast.
Throwing a robe over his sleeping trousers, but not bothering with a shirt or slippers, he walked the short distance between the two master bedrooms and went to sit at the little, intimate table they'd had set up even before they'd moved in, so he and Delia could start their mornings together. It was a habit they had been forced to break often of late, but not more often than they observed it. Deinerin would inform Mrs. Dornkirk, if she was already dressed and about the house, and, if she were not, she was likely to emerge any moment in a dressing gown of her own, or so he could hope.
