"To the south? Are you certain, Your Grace?"
Flio paused, a thick stack of logs and reports cradled under his arm. He looked up at Zarius, his eyebrows twitching upward in mild surprise. They had been discussing the usual matters of household supplies and travel arrangements when, without much warning, Zarius said, "We're going south."
Zarius stood near the heavy wooden frame of the window, his arms folded loosely behind his back as he looked down at the pale courtyard below.
"Yes," Zarius replied. "The anniversary of his family's deaths is approaching. Cherion goes south every year to pay his respects."
This shouldn't have been particularly surprising to either of them. Flio had already included it in what he'd managed to learn about Cherion when he first looked into his background. But with everything that had happened since, though, the detail had somehow been forgotten.
