The Way of the Soul by Stuart Jaffe

with you?”
    Malja’s sly grin was her only answer.
    Whether to change the subject or out of honest curiosity, Malja couldn’t tell, but Fawbry gestured to her hair and said, “I think all this fighting is finally getting to you. I see a bit of gray there.”
    “You’ll see the red of your own blood, if you say that again.”
    Fawbry chuckled. Malja, however, was not amused — the shaking hands, the soreness, and now the gray hairs.
    As she headed back towards the balcony, the door opened once again. This time, a well-dressed attendant stepped forth. She wore a yellow and red cape, formal clothing embroidered with vines and flowers — a regal look that amused Malja. With a slight bow, the attendant said, “The Artisoll will now see you.”
    As they headed out of the room, the attendant put out her arm and blocked Fawbry’s way. “Just her.”
    Malja looked at Fawbry and shrugged. “Wait here.”
    She followed the caped attendant down a series of halls that ended in a wide double-door. They walked through, entering Castle Tunistall’s large throne room. Marble statues lined the walls depicting hard-working villagers standing with strength and humility. An exquisite mosaic of colored stones decorated the floor. Representatives of Dovell, Bechstallon, and Ro each stood by one of the walls with their entourages surrounding them like soldiers. In the middle, the smaller countries each had their representatives. They mulled about like nervous children at a school dance.
    A hush overcame the room as all eyes turned toward Malja. The attendant ignored the crowd’s attention and headed straight across the room. Malja followed.
    Whenever she had visited Tommy and the Artisoll in the past, she had come at night. She would meet them in their private rooms where they could conduct their business without the whole of Reo-Koll knowing. The Artisoll thought it better that her people remained unaware that she spent any of her magical energy on the problems of other worlds. Even with all that power, the Artisoll still had to deal with politics. Malja hoped her brazen daytime appearance did not hurt things.
    At the far end, atop two wide platforms, sat the castle’s old throne. Dust collected upon the gold arms and deep cushions. The attendant climbed the platforms and opened a door off to the side of the throne. She glanced back and gestured.
    Malja wanted to whip out Viper and cut out all the staring eyes. But nobody entered the castle armed. Viper lay on her bed back at her apartment — a small, practical, one bedroom provided by the Artisoll.
    As Malja walked through the doorway, the attendant bowed. She would not be coming further. Malja pressed on alone, down a short empty hall that ended in a plain, wooden door. Before she could knock, the door opened. Another attendant bowed. Inside, Malja saw the Artisoll and Tommy smiling back at her.
    They sat at a chipped, wooden table in a barely furnished room. The low ceiling looked close to collapsing while the scuffed floor felt uneven. The wall to the right consisted mostly of an enormous window looking upon the ocean — the only luxury to be found.
    The Artisoll and Tommy rose from their chairs — as did a young man dressed as one of the Holy Men. The Holy Men spent most of their lives searching Reo-Koll for the next Artisoll. This one, however, had a different task. This one served as the Artisoll’s voice.
    “Welcome,” the Voice said.
    Malja stared at Tommy, searching his stubble face for any sign of the boy she had known. His once lanky body had become taut with lean muscle. His disheveled mop of blond hair had been cut short and tight. He was a man now and a husband — no longer her boy.
    She felt a lump form in her chest, but before it could settle, Tommy rushed over and wrapped his arms around her. Though he stood a head over her, though his hug felt nothing like a little boy clasping her waist, she still welcomed his arms.
    After a moment, the Artisoll said