The Grey Prince Page: 48
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The woman was dressed in a comfortable-looking robe of deepest
blue. She held an all-but-forgotten glass of rouge in her delicate
left hand. She had a soft, matronly quality about her and a
generous, empathetic face. One might have believed that she was
simply a harmless old woman, too, if it weren't for her eyes. Of
sparkling blue, keen and alert, they casually caught everything
around her, narrowing with perception. Yet however unsettling her
sharp glance and even sharper intelligence might have been, her
genuinely concerned and amiable nature easily won the hearts of
many a visitor.
The woman was nearing ninety, but still insisted on looking
after her estate herself (even to the point of demanding to be
allowed to do the menial tasks normally assigned to her household's
servants), and she was still one of the most powerful Maguses
Cedric had ever seen. He had nothing but the greatest respect and
affection for her, as did they all.
To her right, wearing the bright colors and somber expression
so typical of Vandorae, sat Burke Reyman, that city's Chancellor.
His thin form rested in a Jarric-crafted chair that appeared to be
much too large for him. His raven hair and midnight eyes starkly
contrasted the gaiety of his raiment. He was a reliable man and
one of the original members of the group. Serious, thoughtful,
insightful and diplomatic, he had impressed Cedric time and again
with his constancy. He was a very private man, and Cedric had
objected to him originally because he had mistaken the man's
melancholy character for moroseness. It had taken a while before
Cedric had felt comfortable with the man and his sardonic wit, but
now he had no regrets about taking him as the representative for
Vandorae.
Beside him on the floor sat Melissa Tomasyn, the healer from
Tryfall. Her hair was light—which was unusual for a citizen of
Tryfall—a strawberry-blonde hue. She was neither beautiful nor
ugly, a plain-faced young woman bubbling with humor. She was
refreshingly simple. Not unintelligent. Simple. Cedric loved her
eyes. He could tell her mood by the color of them. Right now,
they were the somber green of concentration.
Next to her on the floor reclined one of the two new members
of the private group: Harper Rackley. He had replaced old Gillam,
the craftsman from Fanydd. Harper was the assistant to the
Mastershaper himself, and had provided invaluable information about
the reclusive society of the guildsmen. He was privy to the same
information that Farrel saw and seemed to take pride in accurately
reporting it to the group. He was an enthusiastic young man—at
nineteen being the youngest present—who spoke his mind freely
(even when his mind had not decided exactly what it thought). His
youthful tenacity and unabashed openness endeared him to the entire
group, and Cedric would have wagered that he wasn't the only one
who had to fight the urge to ruffle the young man's tousled auburn
hair each time he spoke. The youth had a musical voice even when
he was just talking and Cedric found it a delightful treat when he
would grace their meetings with a ballad.
Beside him, taking up half of the room's small couch, sat the
48
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Casey, Jim. The Grey Prince, thesis or dissertation, Summer 1991; Denton, Texas. (https://digital.library.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc146419/m1/53/: accessed May 6, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, UNT Digital Library, https://digital.library.unt.edu; crediting UNT Honors College.