“How else can I describe it?” Leema murmured, trailing a finger idly over the heavy, marble-beaded bracelet adorning her wrist. “The Lady’s words are akin to music that only I am privileged enough to hear. They are the melody of my soul. The rhythm of my heart. I can scarce imagine my life deaf to her song.”
Ildon watched her as she spoke, his expression carefully guarded. It was suspicious enough to snap Leema from her daydream-like reverie.
“What?” She demanded, embarrassed.
He tried for a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he said. “It sounds wonderful.”