(OOG: La la la... Seven more posts to go... ^^ Or was it ten? I'm losing count.)

Morning had dawned clear and cool over Aquavy, scattering wisps of crimson and silver-tipped clouds that still hadn't faded quite yet under the sun's firey touch. The ocean below captured the light and sparkled like a diamond, more calm and serene now than in the last few weeks - as if it knew something the rest of the world was only just waking up to.

The Palace gardens were awash with the colors of early fall, mostly yellows to compliment the greens, as the trees began their change in preparation of the winter seaason. The gardening staff had claimed that the temperate climate would not significantly change the cycle, as Cyrene had worried when the first signs of color appeared; it seemed insignificant to worry about in the face of everything else that had happened during the year, but this place was very important to her. It held years of history, from the days of the last queen through the war with Solaris... and then the events of the present, all of which she had experienced while in /this place/.

She was attached to it. What could that hurt? The place was alive with voices and memories... Everyone needed a sanctuary, and this had become hers.

"Enjoyin' the morning, Majesty?"

Cyrene looked up from her contemplation of the horizon beyond the rail, offering a small smile to the gardener as he approached from the path. Devin Brass, the last of his family in her service; the rest of his family had faded over time, the last of them killed during the attack on the city. But she knew him well - he'd worked in her gardens for his entire life, and he was more like a relative than a servant. "What brings you out here? Isn't this your day off?"

"Can't a poor servant visit his queen once in a while?" He pulled his hat off and bowed hastily, stuffing it back on his head without much heed when he rose again. "I figured I'd pay you a visit in honor of the festival. Haven't seen much of ya lately."

"True enough." Her smile faded as she turned her gaze back to the distant spires of Aphel Aura across the center of Shevat. The ocean glittered beyond, blending into the sky so well it seemed almost a mirage at this distance. "Things have been quite busy... Parliament has been dogging my footsteps since June about Kislev, and the other disasters."

Devin chuckled beside her, shifting his satchel. "Synclair had the right of it last week, Majesty - take a break before they run you into the ground."

"Synclair hasn't been buried alive in reports and proposals," she replied dryly, casting her gardener a sidelong glance. "And what would you be doing listening to my conversations with the Minister, hmm?"

Devin's face flushed. "I think it's time I be going, Majesty." He bowed again more deeply, a sheepish grin plain on his face. "I came through here on my way to see Elise, but Linda sent me here with a little package."

Cyrene raised an eyebrow, watching as he pulled his satchel open and pulled a bundle of gray fluff from the bag. He presented it to her on both hands, as if holding out a silver platter, and it rolled over in a tangle of fur and claws to blink at her with emerald eyes. "Mirian?" She laughed softly, reaching up to take the kitten into her own hands. "What in the world?"

"They found the little rascal tearing into the herb garden on the first level. Linda was going to send him into the palace, but I thought you'd want to keep track of him instead." Devin tipped his hat and bowed his graying head. "Enjoy the day, Majesty. See y'around."

She smiled a thank-you as he turned, and she turned her attention down to the kitten. "What were you doing outside, hmm?" Her little charge blinked at her once, and its mouth stretched into a yawn. "Are you trying to tell me you don't care to hear my lecture?" Mirian mewed and tried to squirm out of Cyrene's small hands. "Oh no you don't. You're coming back inside with me."

The queen gathered Mirian to her chest and turned away from the rail to follow the path back to her rooms, squinting against the brightness of the early sun that seemed to want to shine right into her eyes to amuse itself. Her little companion seemed to have partaken of the coffee running rampant on the lower floors of the palace as people rushed about to start their mornings; she simply wouldn't be still, no matter how she was coaxed or pet - if her claws had been any longer or sharper, Cyrene's sleeves would have been a mess.

They passed into the shade of the trees beside her office patio, and Cyrene breathed a sigh of relief. Mirian was more than a handful, and the glare of the sun had left the world tinted blue as her eyes struggled to adjust to the shade.

The festival weas starting today - Purim, the anniversary of Sophia's death in the war, so many years ago. She'd seen literally hundreds of them, and it had been years since she had actually participated in the festivities, but this year... What was it about the world? About fate? Somehow, by the hand of God or perhaps just bad luck, this time was always the bringer of unusual events. Why, once she had received a gift from Mordon - a music box that played a simplistic rendition of the hymn that Sophia used to lead herself during sermons. A sick reminder, perhaps, but odd nonetheless.

This year, she gazed upon twin faces that resembled her old friend better than Lacan's painting in the cathedral. Two Sophias, completely unaware of each other, probably completely unaware of the significance of their features. Was it fate? Or another trick devised by Mordon for his own amusement?

No, even he wouldn't go that far - she hoped he would not, at least. But if he had ever possessed the ability to clone his precious Sophia, there was no sign of it.

Cyrene hugged Mirian close to her chest as she approached her office doors. Her Ministers were already present, gathered near the center of the room near her desk to wait for her arrival. It was tradition for the members of her Cabinet to gather and escort her through the city on the first day of Purim - things were probably less formal in Nisan, ironically, but here she was expected to open the festivities herself in the city square, and this showing of loyalty on the part of her Ministers was meant to give the people condfidence in the stability of thier government.

Ha. Quite an illusion indeed.

She turned the handle and strode inside, making sure the door was closed before bending down and letting Mirian bound out of her arms to the desk - her other 'favorite' place to make mischief.

"Ah, my queen..."

The others turned from their conversation, and she nodded to them with a faint, cordial smile. "You're all rather early. Is this a special occasion - aside from the festival, that is?"

It was Shan that answered, with a rather cat-like smile. "Payback, majesty. We strongly suspect that Synclair stacked the deck against us, and our company is his punishment until we can think of something more suitable."

Well now, /that/ was an odd answer. She raised her eyebrows and turned her gaze to Synclair, who for once looked a bit less than perfect; he looked tired, a brush of shadow beneath his eyes. "A stacked deck?"

"We were playing cards, my queen. Urien, being the tricksome character that he is-" Shan snorted and shook his head, the gesture good-natured, "-Decided to call a true bet, rather than our normal wagers, and my... esteemed collegues are rather bitter over my victory." He offered a slight smile and a perfect bow. "It was all quite fair, I assure you. Levine dealt, after all."

/That/ was a contradiction - not that Levine was a dishonest man, but... perhaps it had not been as fair as he claimed? Cyrene tried not to smile. "And this bet...?"

Levine coughed, and Urien offered her a bow and a friendly grin that she thought was an attempt to look... innocent. She would have believed it, if he had shown more sign of a sense of humor over the past centuries. "We were simply trying to decide who would have the honor of escort, majesty... It seemed a good idea at the time, until we discovered how skillful Synclair was at manipulating the game..."

Cyrene covered her face with her hands, trying hard not to give any indication that she wanted to laugh at them. Playing /cards/ to decide who would escort her to the ball? What ever had happened to simply asking the woman in question and allowing her to decide? Were they that frightened of her answers?

"I suppose it's your good luck that it wasn't strip poker, eh gentlemen?"

"Synclair!"

A bubble of laughter escaped her lips before she could stop it, inspired by Shan's half-scandalized protest. "Enough, my lords." Her hands parted, but she had to bite her lip for a moment to keep from laughing again. /Encouraging/ them was the last thing she should do! "I take it the decision has been made, then?"

This didn't come as a surprise for her, though she wasn't sure why. The four always managed to compete among themselves for the supposed honor of escorting her during the years she decided to attend the annual party, but... what timing. Perhaps it was simply another stroke of unpredictable fate, but she'd known who would escort her this time. Somehow, she'd gotten the feeling that this would happen. But why? What was so special about this event?

Or perhaps the question was, what honor was there in escorting an old woman? "Synclair?" she asked, turning back to him.

He offered her a slender, black velvet box with both hands, silent and serious but for a short glance at the others. It was tradition for a lady's escort to offer her a gift that would mark her as 'taken' - so to speak - usually from one's own belongings, or family treasury. Many a lord had lost both a date and a valuable hierloom on nights like the one she was planning on attending.

She opened the box carefully, cradling it in her hands. "Oh... my..."

"Well, that /is/ a first," Shan murmured dryly. "I don't think any of my gifts earned such a wonderfully dazzled expression."

Cyrene ignored him, lips parted as she ran her fingertip over the finely woven golden bracelet. Tiny roses interwoven with vines and leaves, so delicately molded she was reluctant to truly touch it for fear of breaking it. She didn't recognize it - either it belonged to a member of his family she didn't remember, or he had purchased it specifically for the occasion. Either way...

"Thank you." Cyrene closed the box gently, exerting all of her willpower to avoid blushing when she looked up to smile. He looked /too/ satisfied - or perhaps it was just the presence of the others that was inspiring that expression in his eyes. She looked away quickly, and moved to place it upon her desk, secure in a niche that Mirian wouldn't care to bother.

She could feel their gazes follow her; if not for the rumors flying about her relationship with Synclair, she might have thought nothing of it, but this time... Cyrene turned back to her Ministers, composing her expression and gesturing to the doors. "Well, gentlemen, shall we go? Our citizens await."

(Summary: Cyrene takes some time to enjoy the first day of the Festival, and her Ministers present her with a little surprise.)