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“Minds? Pfft. It’s your face and bearing I can read like a primer, child. That furrow in your brow crinkles just so when it’s he who occupies your mind. Besides, you always get in this mood when the weather turns.”
Jaina shivered. “Am I truly so easy to read?”
Aegwy
Jaina sighed. “It’s true. When the weather is cold, I do think of him. About what happened. About whether I could have done anything.”
Aegwy
Jaina blinked, surprised and unsettled by the comment. “You’ve been thinking about Arthas?”
The former Guardian regarded her keenly. “The Lich King. He’s not Arthas, not anymore.”
“I don’t need to be reminded of that,” Jaina said, a touch too sharply. “Why do you—”
“Can’t you feel it?”
Slowly, Jaina nodded. She had tried to chalk it up to the weather and the tensions that always ran high when it was so damp and unpleasant. But Aegwy
“Tell me of him,” Aegwy
“I’ve told you all I know.”
“No,” Aegwy
Jaina Proudmoore hummed a little as she strode through the gardens of Dalaran. She’d been here for eight years now, and the city never lost its sense of wonder. Everything here emanated magic, and to her it was almost like a scent, a fragrance of everything in bloom, and she inhaled it with a smile.
Of course, some of that “fragrance” was that of actual flowers in bloom; the gardens of this place were as saturated with magic as everything else. She had never seen healthier, more colorful flowers, or eaten more delicious fruits and vegetables than here. And the knowledge! Jaina felt she had learned more in the last eight years than in her entire life—and most of that in the last two, since Archmage Antonidas had formally taken her as his apprentice. Few things contented her more than sitting curled up in the sun with a cold glass of sweet nectar and a pile of books. Of course, some of the rarer parchments needed to be protected from sunlight and spilled nectar, so the next best thing was sitting inside one of the many rooms, wearing gloves so her hands would not damage the fragile paper, carefully perusing something that was older almost than she could comprehend.
But for now, she just wanted to wander in the gardens, feeling the living earth beneath her feet, smelling the incredible scents, and, when hunger gnawed at her stomach, reaching up and plucking a ripe goldenbark apple warm from the sunlight and crunching it happily.
“In Quel’Thalas,” came a smooth, cultured voice, “there are trees that tower over these in a glory of white bark and golden leaves, that all but sing in the evening breezes. I think you would enjoy seeing them someday.”
Jaina turned to offer Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, son to Anasterian, king of the quel’dorei elves, a smile and a deep curtsey. “Your Highness,” she said. “I wasn’t aware you’d returned. A pleasure. And yes, I’m certain I would.”
Jaina was the daughter, if not of royalty, of nobility and of a ruler. Her father, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, ruled the city-state of Kul Tiras, and Jaina had grown up accustomed to interaction with nobility. And yet, Prince Kael’thas u
He reached up and took an apple himself, biting into it. “There is a certain heartiness about food native to human lands that I have come to appreciate.” He smiled conspiratorially. “Sometimes elven food, while certainly delicious and attractively presented, leaves one still hungry for something more substantial.”
Jaina smiled. Prince Kael’thas always tried so hard to put her at ease. She only wished it worked better. “Few things are nicer than an apple and a slice of Dalaran sharp,” she agreed. The silence stretched between then, awkward despite the casualness of the setting and the warmth of the sun. “So, you are back for a while?”
“Yes, my business in Silvermoon has concluded for the time being. So I should not need to depart again anytime soon.” He looked at her as he took another bite of the apple, his handsome features schooled to be impassive. Still, Jaina knew he was waiting for her reaction.
“We are all pleased at your return, Your Highness.”
He wagged a finger at her. “Ah, I’ve told you, I would prefer it if you would simply call me Kael.”
“I’m sorry, Kael.”
He looked at her and a hint of sorrow passed over his perfect features, gone so quickly that Jaina wondered if she had imagined it. “How do your studies progress?”
“Very well,” she said, warming to the conversation now that it was back on scholastic ground. “Watch!” She pointed to a squirrel perched in a high branch, nibbling on an apple, and murmured a spell. At once it transformed into a sheep, a look of comical surprise on its face as the branch broke beneath its weight and it started to fall. Immediately Jaina extended a hand and the squirrel-sheep halted in midair. Gently she lowered it unharmed to the ground. It bleated at her, twitching its ears, and after a moment again resumed the shape of a very confused-looking squirrel. It sat on its haunches, chattered at her angrily, then with a flick of its fluffy tail leaped up into the tree again.
Kael’thas chuckled. “Well done! No more setting books on fire, I hope?”
Jaina turned scarlet, remembering the incident. When she’d first arrived, her talent with fire had needed some desperate honing. She’d accidentally incinerated a tome while working with Kael’thas—one he’d actually been holding at the time. He’d responded by insisting that for the next few months, she would need to practice all fire spells in the vicinity of the pools that encircled the prison area. “Er…no, that hasn’t happened for a while.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Jaina…” He stepped forward, tossing away the half-eaten apple, smiling gently. “I wasn’t making idle conversation when I invited you to come to Quel’Thalas. Dalaran is a marvelous city, and some of the finest magi in Azeroth live here. I know you’re learning much. But I think you would enjoy visiting an entire land where magic is so much a part of the culture. Not just a part of the city, or confined to a handful of elite, educated magi. Magic is the birthright of every citizen. We are all embraced by the Sunwell. Surely you must have some curiosity about it yourself?”