Sleep had always been a foreign thing to Elian. Normally the Queen and the Spymaster just tested him on various challenges until he collapsed from exhaustion. Since leaving Nox Levitica, the capital of Atreaum, sleep slowly came back to him, like rekindling an old flame.
But as he entered the Tallowman's workshop, the quiet breath of candles and the slow scent of honey incense enveloped him. It was an odd feeling, really--to know that the Grimoire wouldn't record what was happening here for the Crown to read.
"No one ever comes to check on a candlemaker." Michael said gently. His deep voice startled him a little. "Sorry. You were just standing in the hallway for ages, I believe. You said you had a confession to make?"
Elian nodded and gestured to himself. "I suppose you don't see the resemblance?" His hair was in a ponytail and he leaned on his copper cane, but the light had been snuffed out from his eyes long ago.
