SAUDA

— You young scoundrel! You stinking mackerel! the governor exclaimed at the sight of the young flower of the fleet who discreetly took a seat at his right. I know some scum who'd sell their kids to have the honor of sitting their ass in this room, and you, you make us wait by showing up late?!

Young Tximes smiled: he knew that this was how the Governor of Ansasiwa showed his affection. The more vulgar and crude the insults, the more he held you dear.

— I'm sorry, Governor Ogunge... One of the impundulu from the aviary brought us news from the Great West. It seems your son's fleet is in great difficulty against the Men...

The governor placed his hand on his large belly, straightened himself on his cushion, and let out a dissatisfied burp upon hearing what his protégé had just told him, which was immediately absorbed by the ambient din of the room.

— By the Eternals... he grumbled, rinsing his hands in the small bowl of lemon water brought to him by one of the servants at his side.

A hundred nocturnes, admirals, sailors, and duly summoned individuals were present, all seated side by side at low tables, abundantly laden with seafood, grilled fish, and garlic bread. In this large hall, exclusively reserved for grand receptions, servants moved back and forth across the banquet, bending, serving, and refilling cups of seaweed wine and Órelotarianne dark beer for their distinguished guests.
The richly decorated hall belonged to the Roche-Écume palace, where the Governor of Ansãsiwa, YA Kubó Ogunge, resided. A connoisseur of pomp and luxury, like any self-respecting Ogunge, he had ensured that every cushion on which the guests rested was adorned with pure gold threads. As for the tables, they were carved from polished oak imported and sculpted from the black woods of the Basseterres. Carpets, brought from Al'Têp and sewn with the delicacy of the Tarfên, covered the floor, while the walls were adorned with war trophies from the Three Moons, the Howling Islands, and the West African coasts. In addition, the marble tableware brought out for the occasion was embellished with gilded engravings, finely carved and melted into the stone's veins with remarkable skill by the country's best southern artisans.

— In that case, I have no choice. I'm forced to ask you again, my boy, he said, leaning closer to his protégé, in a confidential tone. You'll be more useful to me here as a duly summoned member than as a mere tribe member… he declared, picking his teeth with the nail of his little finger, on which a huge gold ring with a sapphire was set.

— But... Governor Ogunge... Allow me at least one or two orbits before I give you my answer... And besides... what legitimacy would a stripling like me have to take on this responsibility under your roof, to advise your sons and subjects, especially in such uncertain times? he said politely, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Lady of the Tides who stood at the other end of the room.

— By the Eternals... you'd cut a very pale figure in terms of legitimacy next to The Dark One, my boy... She alone dominated Intuló for nearly three hundred cycles. Banished by her clan, rejected, demonized, challenged, and constantly threatened, that didn't stop her from subduing the mutineers of Jacaré and hundreds of her enemies who are six feet under, while undeniably becoming one of the most powerful and feared elfin women in our history. Do you think that when she declared herself Duchess of Intuló, after being banished by her clan, she wondered if she was legitimate or not?

At these words, the governor let out another, even louder burp, immediately followed by the mocking laughter of two drunken elves facing him, who, apart from this jollity, had heard nothing of the preceding speech.
Ximena sighed with weariness, while a moth made her squint by flitting in front of her nose.

— You speak as if The Dark On and I have anything in common... I have no w'nundu, no royal lineage, and even less Kizoyu power... growled young Tximes, teeth clenched.

The moth now attacked the governor who, with a swift movement, unceremoniously crushed it between his palms.

— Keish! exclaimed Ximena, while her husband superbly ignored her intervention, paying her no attention. With a mere flick of his finger, he flicked the carcass of the large insect he had just crushed onto the floor.

— You and she have one undeniable thing in common. Just like her, I know you keep your word. The others are just incompetent brown-nosers. I know it, they know it, and you know it yourself. They only think about filling their bellies, bedding human hussies, and dipping into the treasury, all while hoping I don't notice anything... It's rare, by the running Moons, to find an honest man you can truly count on...At least... once this ridiculous farce is over, and she finally returns to her island...

After thoroughly finishing the sole with cider, the grilled garlic calamari, the gúos, the shrimp on his plate, and emptying a good half-dozen cups of seaweed wine as accompaniment, the young noble felt the insistent gaze of the Lady of the Tides weigh on him. Her large onyx eyes, cold and piercing, sent a shiver down his spine.
Seated at the end of the hall, some thirty meters from where Tximes and his companions stood, she had been staring at him since his arrival at the banquet. He finally dared to meet her gaze, and it did not waver. Elevated on her imposing marble throne, from which sculptures of mermaids and other marine creatures were carved directly into the stone, the Lady dominated the session. Surrounded by her four frozen guards, standing straight like statues on either side of her seat, the Lady of the Tides remained there, silent, her dark gaze still fixed on him.

— Where others drown...

Immediately, the entire room chanted in unison, their cups raised to head height:

— We breathe!

Then, after swallowing a large gulp of seaweed wine, the Lady of the Tides pointed a finger towards the assembly, seemingly designating a man seated behind the young noble at random. The latter turned to see the man the Lady of the Tides had just indicated, who slowly rose when the order was addressed to him: to approach the throne.

The man complied.

An alkeb of low importance, the young Tximes thought when he finally saw his face, which meant nothing to him. Judging by his large ivory pearl necklace and the five small blue ones swaying around his neck with each step, the sanêlke must have been around two hundred and fifty cycles old, he thought as he watched the man walk, crestfallen, towards the throne.

When he stood before the Lady of the Tides, she stared at him with all her stature. She towered over him from her folding seat, while the sanêlke bowed his head as a sign of respect.

— Möara (moy-ara), what is your name?

— Möara, ZA Sauda. My name is YA Dêmbe, of the Mbãenge clan. He replied in a honeyed tone.

— Hmm... A Moss? asked the Lady of the Tides, an eyebrow raised as she heard Dêmbe's accent.

Although this familiar, even vulgar, expression for designating the inhabitants of Mossiwa Island, wrongly reputed for their relatively primitive intelligence, located north of Ansãsiwa, hardly enchanted him, he nodded and bowed again, politely.

— However, ZA Sauda, I am a native of the continental shore of the Jêngu Bay, he specified with verve. It has been a long time since our beloved Lady of the Tides stayed so long in one of our humble southern cities. Oh, ZA Sauda, you honor us with your presence here. At these words, he bowed once again in a theatrical reverence.

The Lady of the Tides smiled.

— An honor? Really? I am flattered, Moss... However, you should choose your words with more discernment. If it is possible for you to grasp their nuances, that is.

— My Lady? asked the sanêlke, who did not immediately understand the meaning of the Lady of the Tides' sentence.

— So be it... YA Dêmbe of the Mbãenge clan, is that right?

— Yes, ZA Sauda.

— If I am indeed your beloved Lady, as you have just claimed, and if I am welcome in this city, then kneel and kiss my feet, she said, extending her foot towards the man, who frowned, astonished.

In the hall, discreet whispers rose. Glances were exchanged, circumspect.

— Pardon, ZA Sauda, began the sanêlke, staring at the extended foot before him. But... I'm not sure I understood correctly. He swallowed loudly.

— Perhaps I should translate it for you in Moss? replied the Lady of the Tides mockingly. She licked her lips and displayed a scornful smirk.

The man, who must have been nearly five times the age of the Lady of the Tides, suddenly seemed tiny, almost insignificant before her.

— On your knees, and kiss my feet. She repeated, staring directly into the eyes of the sanêlke who was five steps below.

From where he stood, Dêmbe could make out a slight spasm of exalted excitement, making the Lady of the Tides' right eye twitch. A shiver ran down his spine.

— M... My... My Lady, he stammered, with all due respect, ZA Sauda, we are here in Ansãsiwa, land of the water tribe, and... This kind of... This kind of display has not been in fashion for cycles... I... Well, I...

But the Lady of the Tides interrupted him, still as dryly, without even granting him a glance, raising her head, she addressed the crowd before her, as if the sanêlke at the foot of her throne no longer existed.

— I am the ocean, the abyss and the foam, YA Dêmbe of the Mbãenge clan of the Southern Water tribe. The first wife of Admiral YA Kasimbe Balake. The Lord of the Seas. A Lord whom you must honor and follow in the name of the Eternal of the Waters and Reflections. And I, ZA Sauda Balake, the Lady of the Tides, am his voice where he cannot be. To disobey me is to disobey your Lord. And to disobey the Lord... is an act of rebellion against the Council of Tides. And every act of rebellion, according to the custom of the Water tribe, is punishable by death...

She lowered her gaze once more to the man, below her throne.

— May the Eternal of Waters and Reflections be my witness. I repeat this to you for the last time, Dêmbe. Approach, kneel, and kiss my feet.

But the men of the Water tribe, especially those from the south, were proud elves and sanêlke with fiery temperaments. Mostly sailors, sometimes pirates for others, often whale or shark hunters, they were hardly inclined to humble themselves easily, especially not in public… and even less so before a woman. Lady of the Tides or not.
For among the Southerners, even more so than among their northern counterparts, traditions remained rigid, and mentalities fiercely conservative. And Sauda knew it.

She reveled in it.

Dêmbe stood tall, raised his chin defiantly, and simply replied:

— No, I will not, ZA Sauda...

Behind him, the men and women in the hall held their breath. It was the first time, since the death of the former Lady of the Tides, that ZA Sauda Balake had dared to venture, and alone at that, into Órelota, despite persistent tribal tensions.
However, the reputation of the new Lady of the Tides within the kingdom, as well as her sudden and unannounced arrival a week prior, was anything but reassuring. Everyone knew it, the entire city knew it. The rumors were not false. And she had just, at that precise moment, proven them right. 

The Lady of the Tides drained the last of her wine in one gulp, then cast her gaze upon the man still standing before her.

— So be it... she simply stated with a sigh.

With a brief glance, one of the guards at her side stepped forward. In a fraction of a second, without anyone understanding what was happening, the guard slipped behind the sanêlke, drew a dagger from his belt, and slit his throat with a swift motion, with such violence that the head was almost entirely detached from the body.

A spray of blood splattered the steps leading to the throne, while the Lady of the Tides let out a slight squeal of excitement at the sight.
The body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, the head, attached only by a thin piece of cartilage, spreading a scarlet puddle that quickly spread across the floor and rugs.

— By the Eternals!! screamed an elfin woman who, unfortunately, had a front-row seat to the scene, before fainting moments later.

A shiver of horror ran through the hall. The guests rose hastily, screaming, crying, some terrified, others in tears. Cups and carafes of wine fell one by one, tables were trampled in the general chaos, as everyone rushed towards the great door to flee.
But the doors remained closed. Two guards, spears at the ready, sturdy and menacing, kept the frightened crowd at bay.

Meanwhile, N'dala Bubakar, the well-known guard who had slit, or rather decapitated, Dêmbe, calmly returned to his place to the left of the Lady of the Tides, as if nothing had happened.

After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the Lady of the Tides screamed:

— SILENCE!

Immediately, the four guards at her side struck two sharp blows with their spears against the stone floor. The sound cracked, echoing throughout the hall like a warning. Their menacing gaze gleamed with an electric blue light, a clear sign that they were flashing their endokã at that moment.

— Return to your places at once! Our banquet, venerable alkeb, is not yet over... the Lady of the Tides continued in a tone that sounded more like a threat.

Protests erupted, loud and sharp. Cries, indignation, and rumbles of anger rose from all parts of the hall. But the Lady of the Tides, impassive, scanned the crowd. Her gaze lingered on each person, forcing them to lower their eyes and retreat, one by one, as if crushed under an invisible weight.

The silence that followed was oppressive.

No one dared to look at Dêmbe's body, which still lay at the foot of the throne. The puddle of blood had reached the feet of the first row. And in this frozen dread, the Lady of the Tides once again raised her finger, sweeping the room like a priestess designating her next sacrifice.

— Humm... You, over there, she said, pointing to an old man two rows away from her. Stand up and approach.

He was a seasoned Moon elf. He, too, wore the traditional Tókökó of the Water Tribe: a necklace of green beads and four necklaces of ivory beads hung from his neck. He had lived a thousand forty cycles…
Two servants hastened to remove Dêmbe's bloody corpse, dragging him to the left to clear the path. The elf approached, straight and dignified.

— Your name? the Lady of the Tides asked without transition.

— YA Obãomi, of the Mpênze clan, he replied, in a cold tone. His stern face betrayed a deep disgust, which he made no attempt to conceal from the Lady of the Tides.

Her face had changed. 

A monstrous, cadaverous face replaced the Lady of the Tides' own. Her already severe features, though beautiful beyond youth, had sagged. Wrinkled. Aged. Purple, greenish, and vermilion veins ran along her right arm, the one bearing the emerald ring. The stone glowed with an almost supernatural, fluorescent brilliance. The veins ascended, coiling around her arm, snaking up to her neck, and seemed to infect her right eye.

It was no longer an onyx eye.

It was a pallid, veiled orb, eaten away by an unhealthy light. Blind. Dead.

— The sight of death had certainly revealed the true nature of the Lady of the Tides unintentionally... Young Tximes thought to himself at the other end of the table, shivering with terror.

Kubó, for his part, remained silent, an helpless spectator in his own home, and exchanged a discreet glance with his son who was still standing behind him. Although he was governor, the Sea Lord of the Balake clan wielded far greater influence than his own in the Wal’Majil Sea and at the Council of Tides. Trying to stop the Lady of the Tides, his first Lady, dark and formidable even here, under his roof, would have been too politically costly…
For a brief moment, the governor of Ansãsiwa doubted his own convictions. Perhaps, he thought, after all, a strong Lady would do the Southern Water tribe good and the Sea Lord had a formidable weapon at his disposal, whom he also took to his bed. At least, when she didn't take on that bloodless appearance…
A smile slowly formed on the cracked lips of the Lady of the Tides, as if each movement of her face caused her unbearable pain. And the more one observed her, the more one could distinguish the fissures that crisscrossed the right side of her face. Hollows that seemed to harbor the very shadow of suffering.
Her left eye, still lively, continued to fix on Obãomi. But her right eye, white, glassy, blind… gazed at something else entirely.

A cat.

A cat with long, silvery, silky fur, appeared out of nowhere, without the slightest embarrassment, lapping at the still-warm blood of the corpse.

— Well, YA Obãomi, she finally said. Kneel and kiss my feet...
And, just as she had done a few minutes earlier, she extended her foot towards the man, who stood five steps below her throne.

The elf did not move.

Stubborn, tenacious, straight as a ship's prow, he stared at the Lady of the Tides without the slightest trace of submission. He had fought pirates in the Wal'Majil Sea, held the lines against human colonists from the Great East and Great West, supported the Sanêlke of New Órelota during the Makênge rebellion of the Howling Islands. He had fought alongside the King's Spear in the Lowlands. He had seen a king die, seen more than a dozen YĀMEs pass, and buried more soldiers and sailors than he cared to remember.

— Repugnant ghoul! You have no place here, you are not my Lady of the Tides. You are an abomination. A demonic whore who sleeps with maxetani! A parricidal whore, of low birth, who hides behind the glory of her new name. Without this crown, you are nothing. Without your ring, you would never have been the Lady of the Tides!

The room froze.

Every word, every insult, resonated like a slap in the silence. Faces turned, wide-eyed, petrified by the audacity.

But the Lady of the Tides did not budge an inch... and maintained her small, mocking smile.

A slight salty night breeze refreshed the room from the wide-open bay windows and, in the distance, if one strained their ears enough, it was possible to hear the wind carrying the song of waves crashing against the sides of Foam Rock.
The Lady of the Tides remained motionless.
Her face gradually regained its more natural, smoother features, and her veins disappeared without leaving any visible trace or scar, the cat, too, had vanished, as briefly as it had appeared.
But her eyes, they were still those of evil. Piercing, devoid of any warmth or benevolence.
When the old elf finished insulting her and telling her what everyone had on their hearts but dared not say, panting with rage, she slowly straightened up, turned her eyes away from him for a moment and swept them over the room.

— I am the ocean, the abysses and the foam Obãomi, of the lowly Mpênze clan, she said, emphasizing this demeaning fact. The first wife of Admiral YA Kasimbe Balake. The Lord of the Seas. A Lord whom you must honor and follow in the name of the Eternal of Waters and Reflections. And I, ZA Sauda Balake, the Lady of the Tides, I am his voice where he cannot be. To disobey me is to disobey your Lord. And to disobey the Lord… is an act of rebellion against the Council of Tides. And every act of rebellion, according to the custom of the Water tribe, is punishable by death...

She finally rested her eyes on him.

— So tell me, Obãomi of the lowly Mpênze clan, do you persist in refusing to honor me?

Obãomi approached and spat on one of the steps before her.

— Keish! Never will I stoop to kiss your feet, whore of the abysses! May the Eternals forbid it! he roared. Never will we, children of the sea, prostrate ourselves before a ghoul, and Kasimbe has lost all legitimacy to claim the title of Sea Lord since he bought you and then slept with you! 

— So be it… the Lady of the Tides calmly replied.

She slowly slipped her foot into her sandal, then made a small, almost imperceptible nod to the same guard as before.

And as Obãomi continued to rant, scream, and try to rouse the crowd in Moss, the guard moved with a swift step. He grabbed the elf's chin, forced him to raise his head, and, without the slightest hesitation, slit his throat and violently pushed him to the ground.
Blood spurted, splashing the steps of the throne, the feet of the Lady of the Tides, the dress of a too-close semi-elfin. Obãomi collapsed with a wet gurgle, his eyes open in horror, his mouth twisted by the ultimate insult he had not had time to utter.

As the crowd fell silent in terrified stillness, and the guard returned to his place beside the Lady of the Tides. The latter wasted no time and once again scanned the room, searching for her next victim.

Young Tximes felt all the weight of his body vanish. His stomach churned and a wave of heat rose to his head when he saw with horror that, from the far end of the room, the Lady of the Tides was staring at him.
Without a word. For long, interminable seconds, savoring the feeling of terror she spread through the atmosphere.
With a gesture of her finger, she named him and ordered him to approach her.

— Son, you do as she tells you! YA Kubó whispered to him, gripping his arm. I forbid you to be a fo…

— SILENCE! thundered the Lady of the Tides from the other end of the hall, soon followed by the two spear blows on the floor from the guards around her. 

Once in front of the Lady of the Tides, young Tximes felt acid rising in his throat.

— Möara. What is your name? she asked, while pouring herself a new glass of wine. A chubby, odd-eyed servant presented her with a plate of pink shrimp, which she began to eat with theatrical delicacy.

— I am Tximes… YA Tximes of the Makênge clan, my Lady, he replied, his voice still trembling. He desperately tried to ignore the wet gurgle that persisted close to him, the last breath of a man dying before his eyes.

The Lady of the Tides paused for a moment in her meal and regarded him with strange attention. She took a sip of wine with her mouthful of shrimp, then spoke again.

— A Makênge? the Lady of the Tides repeated, raising an eyebrow. Her tone betrayed her surprise and, for a brief moment, she seemed more like a lost twenty-year-old girl, dressed in a disguise, than a terrible ghoul who had just coldly executed two elves. 
Still staring at young Tximes, she then leaned to the side, towards one of her guards on her right, who whispered a long stream of words into her ear that Tximes tried to listen to without letting it show.
After a few seconds of the guard’s monologue, the Lady of the Tides straightened on her throne and continued:

— The Screamers are enemies of the Water tribe, and the last Makênge of honor died, it seems, even before the fourth dynasty of the Mamake began… So, what are you doing in Foam Rock sharing the table of the Ogunge?

The young Moon elf cleared his throat and tried to maintain an upright posture before continuing.

— At the end of the rebellion of the pirates of the Howling Islands, children under six cycles from the Makênge and Batênge clans were sent to live with the tribe here… my Lady. I have grown up here since my first Moons, with one of my cousins, YA Umaru Makênge, who, after proving himself by working as a boatman in the port of Jengu Bay, is currently training at Purple Point in narrative art with a djēle. We were both raised by the same adoptive father, treated with the utmost respect by the Ogunge, and spent most of our youth at sea. And… to be frank, as far as I'm concerned, I love this country as much as the customs of the Southern Water tribe and have little to no memory of the Howling Islands.

— So you are a slave of the Ogunge clan, stripped of your parents, titles, and balls… Strange that you seem to remain loyal to them, don’t you think? she said suspiciously, setting down her wine glass.

She then looked up to the back of the hall and, to get a clear view of the faces in the back of the room, made her Endokã shimmer. Her onyx eyes immediately took on an electric bluish hue. There, sitting among the frozen nobles, she could clearly see the governor tensing up, his gaze anxious. He immediately understood that this softly delivered sentence was an invisible-bladed trap set for him by the Lady of the Tides.
Young Tximes nodded gently. Too gently… Too late… He felt the trap closing in on him.
The Lady of the Tides’ gaze had fallen upon him once more. Her irises, still tinged with that electric blue, now struck him down. She carefully observed every action of the boy standing before her. The shimmering of the Lady of the Tides also made the filaments of her Lyre cape’s scales radiate, sparkling with the same vibrant color.
A pure, noble blue, contrasting with her arrogant demeanor and her cruel, dominating posture. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face.

— And… according to you, Tximes, as a Screamer… to whom should we naturally pledge allegiance?

She let the silence thicken before continuing.

— To the Ogunge clan, which… she indicated with a slight nod towards the two corpses at the foot of the throne, seems to revel among traitors and felons… Or to the Sea Lord, who works tirelessly to ensure our safety on the waves and the prosperity of the Southern Water tribe?

— I will never disobey the commands of the Sea Lord, my Lady, he said, dropping to one knee.

The Lady of the Tides, who had again begun to peck at the seafood platter her servant presented to her, turned to young Tximes. With a lazy gesture, she removed her foot from her ornate sandal and extended it towards the boy.

— In that case, let your words align with your actions, Tximes.

Without even taking the time to think, he climbed the five steps that separated him from the throne, fell to his knees as if struck by lightning, then... delicately... took the Lady of the Tides' foot in his hands and placed a first kiss in the hollow of her instep.
Satisfied, she let out a sigh of contentment and bit the tip of her lips. Her eyes changed color, oscillating between blue and black, as the young noble continued to honor her foot with his mouth. A smile then formed on her lips. Not one of cruelty this time. No, but a more insidious smile. That of triumphant pleasure. Tximes, who at that moment briefly allowed himself to look up at the Lady of the Tides, did not miss a single detail.
And as the submissive young noble undertook to kiss her feet more lingeringly, brushing her skin with his lips, even sliding his tongue with an animal obedience, the Lady of the Tides addressed the assembly, frozen in silence and fear.

 — It has come to my attention… that there were traitors among you here. They will recognize themselves, she said in a softer voice, looking intently at the governor of Ansãsiwa, who felt his stomach knot. A few men in the assembly here and there discreetly exchanged meaningful glances.

— Since my arrival in Foam-Rock… I have observed each of you. I have heard you speak behind my back. You, venerable marine alkebs, some of whom would dream of seeing their Lord’s head, as well as mine, on a pike…

She paused, savoring the effect of her words... or... the warm, moist tongue of the young man honoring her feet.

— Oh, know this: I have not come here to deceive you, nor to conquer you, much less to destroy your cities. Some would have you believe that your enemy lies to the south. I, ZA Sauda, Lady of the Tides, first legitimate wife of the Sea Lord, am not your enemy, and the Obsidian Citadel of the Three Moons as well as Anadë Island, the Valley of Widows for your daughters and your wives, will forever remain open to you. As long as your loyalty to my husband remains unwavering.
Although Ansãsiwa is, and I deplore it, part of Órelota, we are part of one and the same family: the Southern Water tribe. Please remember this the next time you plot against your Lord, do not mistake your enemies… 
As of this night, I consider all of you, venerable alkebs, as allies of the Balake clan.  

She lowered her eyes again to Tximes, still on all fours, tongue between her toes, humiliated in a heavy silence.

— Also, I dare to hope I am not mistaken about our new understanding… she continued, her voice laden with a barely veiled threat.
It would be most regrettable if I were to return here no longer as an ally, but as a declared enemy, to chastise a city so magnificently built as yours, given over to hypocrisy and perjury... Do not forget... I am the ocean, I see everything that happens on, and under the waves...

At these words, she slowly removed her foot from Tximes's mouth and put her sandal back on. The Lady of the Tides and the boy exchanged an equivocal look. She smiled at him, then, with a simple nod of her head, indicated for him to return to his place. The boy then straightened up, bowed as low as he was hurried, then returned to his seat with his head down.

— Now that introductions have been made… she resumed, rising from her throne, I wish you all fair winds. It is time for me to leave you, venerable alkebs.

Without another word, she descended from her folding seat. Her four guards clacked their spears against the floor twice more, then surrounded her, forming a silent procession.
The alkebs in the hall, petrified, held their breath as she descended the steps, straight and regal, crossing the room without a single glance at anyone.
Arriving at the large wooden door at the other end of the room, two more guards opened the two large wooden doors. ZA Sauda Balake passed the threshold and disappeared into the corridors of Foam-Rock palace.
When the heavy doors closed behind her, a shiver ran through the hall. Then, slowly, the tension subsided. The first sighs escaped.
And the murmurs, timid at first, rose into a rumor of indignation, of fear… and of contained anger.