I feel it is my duty to commit to record some facts about Lyander’s wife. It is my fear that the Cult of Lyander will twist and manipulate the facts about her, turning her into a horror in keeping with her husband. Yet that would be a great wrong, as there has never been a more charming and delicate creature then Ashira.

We grew up together, although I doubt that, if she still lived, she would remember me. I was the son of a cobbler, and my family did not move in the same circles as hers. We had no connections to the Forgotten Council, and none of our family were renowned inventors or philosophers. I was only 8 years old on the day we first met, but I remember it clearly.

Even a member of the Forgotten Council has need, from time to time, of new shoes. Ashira’s father came to the cobblers, requesting a new pair of boots. My own father was quick to come to his assistance, and in moments he was measuring the gentleman’s feet and discussing the best leather to use. Ashira stood behind her father, the same age as me yet already more beautiful than the most spectacular sunset. She stood and watched our fathers with a rare intensity, and all the time she repeatedly wound a strand of her silver hair around and around her fingers, mesmerising me.

After that initial visit, I would often watch for her. She did not attend any of the junior classes at the Academy, and it was rumoured that she was too frail of health to cope with such a rigorous education. She seldom left her home, but every once in a while she could be seen walking around the town, arm in arm with her brother. I continued to study my fathers trade, and, as the eldest, I was expected to take over the family business.

I knew I could never hope to win Ashira to my side, but after that first meeting, I was infatuated. I lived for those rare glances of her.

She probably did not even remember me, and after all, why should she? But I watched her grow from a shy girl into a beautiful young woman. As she matured her health was still frail, and she appeared to tire rapidly. But as she blossomed she lost some of her childhood awkwardness, and she became a much more social creature. In the latter part of her life, she was a frequent guest at social gatherings and parties. She was intelligent, and a gifted public speaker, making her popular with all the noble families.

It was around this time that it became obvious that Ashira and Lyander were growing closer. Lyander was Ashira’s brother’s best friend, so the two were almost thrown together. I was bitterly jealous on the day their relationship was announced, and for several weeks I avoided the places where I so often went to observe her. Yet her intoxicating beauty once more drew me to her, and it was not long before I was once more shadowing her.

Then came the most embarrassing day of my life. Ashira was strolling down by the river with her brother. I was watching from the hillside. I had some of my cobbling tools with me, and I was using the time to sharpen my knives. Ashira and her brother spent some time talking, and then he rushed off, leaving her on her own. All of a sudden, she looked up the hill towards me. I bent my head and concentrated on my work, praying that I would escape her notice. When I looked back up, she was walking towards me. It would be the height of bad manners to leap up and walk away, so I was left with little choice other than to sit there as she approached. My heart was hammering in my chest like a woodpecker!

As she sat down beside me, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. It was obvious that she knew who I was; despite the fact that I thought I had been subtle in my efforts to watch her. I expected a rebuke, and I wondered why she had waited for her brother to leave before approaching me. I think it would have been easier to accept the violence imparted by a protective older brother, than her calm reserve.

‘You are the cobblers son. I remember the time that my Da brought me to your fathers shop. Why have you been watching me?’

I struggled for words. I felt like a master villain that had just been unmasked. My first few attempts at speech came out as garbled rubbish. I took a deep breath, and tried again.

‘I have seen you watching the birds feed off the nectar of the orchids in the garden. I would answer your question with one of my own. Why do you watch them?’

I shut my mouth, appalled by what I had said, but pleased that at least it was coherent. I tensed myself, expecting her to either slap me or walk away.

‘That is a reasonable answer. But there is one difference. If I was to approach the birds, and make myself known to them, they would fly away and I would no longer be able to watch them. Yet you could have approached me…’

I summoned the courage to look up at her, and I felt as if I would drown in her eyes. She looked at me with such sincerity.

‘I am a cobblers son. You are the daughter of a famous member of the Forgotten Council. You may not have flown away from me in fear, but the rules of our society forbid any association between us, so I thought you would fly away so as not to tarnish your reputation.’

And then, to my surprise, she laughed. It was the most magical sound, and it transformed her.

‘I care not for rules. All my life I have managed to avoid the mantle that society has attempted to make me wear. If I were so easily led, I would now be climbing up those never ending stairs to the Sky Chamber. Instead, I do as I will, and if my will is to be friends with a Cobblers son, I would like to see anyone try to stop me!’

And so our friendship began. Ashira teased me ruthlessly about the years I spent being her shadow, but she never mentioned them in front of her brother or Lyander. Her brother accepted our friendship readily enough, but Lyander was always somewhat reserved around me. Perhaps he saw through to my heart, and knew that I would always want to be more than just her friend. Yet even though I knew that could never come to pass, I delighted in the opportunity to get to know her and become part of her life.

Ashira was a spirited woman with a large circle of friends. She was frighteningly intelligent, and would often see through to the heart of a problem that Lyander and the Forgotten Council had been discussing for days. I was welcomed amongst her friends, and it was not long before I spent all my spare time with them. My father warned me about getting ideas above my station, but I simply could not help myself.

And so the year sped past. When we could we would meet for picnics by the banks of the river, and take turns reading out our favourite poetry. One of Ashira’s friends, who became a regular, was known as Serephis, and it was obvious that she had developed feelings for me. It would have been an excellent match, and one that was far superior than my family had hoped for, but Ashira had stolen my heart. Whilst I knew she would never be mine, I still felt as if I was being unfaithful if I so much as looked at another woman. Despite that, it was a happy time. We were all young and carefree, and the future was a long way away.

Then came the announcement of Lyander’s betrothal to Ashira. In all honesty, it did not come as a shock to any of us. They were not the first in the group to formalise their relationship. It was simply that time in our lives when many of us were settling down. But it did spell the end of our golden years. The picnic’s all but stopped. Ashira had plenty of bridal parties in preparation for her wedding, but the invitations to those were limited to her female friends. We still met occasionally, and once a month we could both be found sipping coffee in the small restaurant that had attached itself to the Academy. I treasured those afternoons of swapping stories, whilst watching her navigate her way around an iced bun. But we were no longer children and our time of running wild had passed.

Yet our friendship was as strong as ever, and it was to me she turned when she had doubts. Lyander had become a fanatical daemonologist, and she did her best to support him in his work. Without her intellect, it is likely that he would never have made such huge advances. They worked long hours in the Academy, and Ashira began to look even more pale and tired. She confided in me that she was worried that Lyander would push himself too far, with disastrous consequences.

I did what I could to support her, and as the time of their marriage drew near, she seemed to find a new reserve of strength. With all the preparations, I saw less and less of her, but when we did find a moment together, she did seem truly happy and content. I felt as if our friendship had drifted apart, but again, this seemed to be a symptom of our age. All the old friendships we had made when we were growing up were in the process of changing, as members of our social circle got married and immersed themselves in their chosen careers.

I will confess that on the day that Ashira married Lyander, I shed a tear. It was not jealousy, as I had long come to terms with the fact that Ashira would always love me as she loved her brother. It made me almost more protective over her, and when I saw her step out to be married, she took my breath away. She shimmered in the morning sun, her eyes sparkling to match her dress. She was clothed in white organza that looked as if it had been showered with tiny jewels. Her silver white hair had been swept up in an elaborate style, but she could not prevent the odd wisp from escaping. It only served to frame her delicate features. She was the paragon of beauty.

It was a happy day, and we all celebrated long into the night. But it was a day that marked a change in my life. After Ashira was married, she dedicated nearly all her time to supporting her husband’s research. Together they worked for the good of the Forgotten Council, labouring in the wing of the Academy that had been dedicated to Lyander’s work. Yet even with this rigorous workload, Ashira still managed to fall pregnant. As her belly swelled, she was forced to slow down a little.

During the latter stages of her pregnancy, I managed to secure a little more time with Ashira. Lyander may have finished up as a monster, but he did love her back then, and he would not let her risk herself and her unborn child’s by working all hours. After the child was born, I saw little of Ashira. Although there was one unsuspected bonus; as a trusted friend, I was allowed to look after the baby girl, who was named Serafia after her Grandmother. She had her mother’s beauty and charm, and the afternoons I spent in her company were a real pleasure. It reminded me of when my own siblings were still no more than babes.

Ashira allowed herself a few weeks rest after the birth, and then she returned to Lyander’s side in the laboratories. I often wonder if she did this because of a genuine interest, or because she wanted to be with her husband, or because she wished to stay away from one-time friends that had grown jealous of her relationship with Lyander. It seemed almost comical that I still cherished our friendship, even though she had stolen my heart so many years ago, when her female friends deserted her for loving Lyander. Yet women are an odd sort, and I do not pretend to understand them.

We all took turns in looking after Serafia when her mother returned to work. Her uncle and grandmother did the bulk of the work, but I got to spend at least one afternoon a week with her. This pattern set in and became routine for several years. By the time Serafia was three, she was stumbling around, getting into all sorts of trouble, and calling me ‘Uncle’. She was an intelligent child, and beloved of her parents. I warmed more to Lyander in those years, as my role in his daughter’s life lead me to understand him better. My position meant that I had the privilege of observing the way he interacted with his family, and it was obvious that he loved them. I just wish, with all my heart, that his family had distracted him from his studies. Instead he went about them with a renewed vigour, determined to make his name so that his wife and child may have the best of everything.

Then came that fateful evening, which is now well documented. I will not touch on what happened, as I was not there. Ashira’s brother held her frail body as she breathed her last breath. I do not envy him, as his head must be full of images he would rather forget. But at least she did not die alone. Had events turned out differently, I would have flung myself into a deep and dark depression. Her death was so tragic and so untimely. Yet something occurred to set my feet on a different path.

It was mid morning, the day after the night that none of us will ever forget. I had had little sleep, and my mind was full of bleak and dark thoughts. I headed to my home, intending to fine a strong liquor and indulge myself – no matter what time of day it might be. But when I opened the door, I had an unexpected visitor.

Serafia sat on my large leather armchair, curled up with her feet tucked beneath her. Her eyes were red from crying, but she looked composed and calm. I looked at her, somewhat perplexed. She had gone missing after the attack, and many had assumed that Lyander had taken her. I was torn between hugging her and rushing her around to her distraught grandmother. Instead I simply stood and gawked at her like a first class idiot.

She looked up at me, and drew a deep breath to compose herself.

‘Mummy said I should run to your house. She said I should hide. She said there would be bad things happening, but that I was to try and not be frightened. She said that when the bad things had stopped, and everyone was sad, I should find you. But that I wasn’t to tell anyone else where I was.’

I was stunned. From what she had said, she had been hiding in my house all night. Where did she conceal herself? And did she know the fate of her parents? I steeled myself for the worst.

‘Did mummy say why you should hide? Or why you should only tell me, and no one else, where you are?’

‘Mummy said that she had had a dream. And that in the dream, bad things happened to her and daddy. She said it was too late to stop them, but that if I could hide, and be as quiet as a mouse, it would stop bad things from happening to me. She made me promise not to tell anyone except you. She made me promise to stay away from Grandma.’

I was now plunged into an abyss of confusion. Did Ashira have a premonition about what was going to happen? If so, what fate had she seen for her daughter? And why was it so dangerous that I could not even tell the child’s grandmother? I gathered Serafia into my arms, where she finally allowed herself to sob. I had a million questions, and all the people with the answers were either dead or radically changed. But it would seem that Ashira’s last wish was that I should protect her child. I would not fail her.

I made a cot up in my room for Serafia to sleep in. My social circle declined further as I thought up reasons not to invite people back to my home. Luckily everyone put it down to grief, and did not question my motives. I nearly betrayed Serafia at one point. Her grandmother descended into such a depression that I was desperate to tell her that part of Ashira still lived. But when the Forgotten Council made public the means by which they intended to imprison Lyander, it all became clear. Had anyone known that Serafia still lived; it would be her life that was sacrificed, and not her grandmothers.

The day of the sacrifice approached, and I could see that Serafia was struggling with the knowledge that her grandmother must die in order to imprison her father. I could not shield her from common gossip, even though she now lived a very solitary life. She tried to be brave, but it was simply too much for a child of 3. It was then I realised what I must do, and why Ashira had directed her daughter to seek me out. As a cobbler (for I had now earned the right to call myself a master, rather than an apprentice) I did not have the same restraints as the likes of Ashira’s brother, who served on the Forgotten Council. No one would question me if I decided to pack my bags and open up a cobblers in another town, far enough away so that it would not be competition to my father. So that is what I did. I spent some time altering Serafia’s appearance. We dyed and cut her hair and used cosmetics to darken her skin. Finally I acquired some boys clothing, and the transformation was complete. With the entire bustle surrounding the upcoming sacrifice, no one noticed us leave the town.

We travelled for weeks, both of us battling our own private daemons. We arrived in a town many miles away. I was welcomed for my skills, as was my ‘daughter’. On the journey we had made up a tale of how my wife had died, and we had decided to move so as not to be haunted by her memories. The best lies are laced with truth. We chose new names for ourselves and practised until they became second nature. Serafia approached it as she would any game, and proved far more adept at settling into her new role.

And that is where we stayed. We had new lives and, eventually, we learned how to be happy again. Serafia began to call me ‘father’, even when we were not with others. I loved her like a daughter, and took great pride in watching her grow up. She is married now, with children of her own, but she visits me regularly. She looks so much like her mother that, if we had not moved, everyone would know our deception. But here we are safe, or as safe as we can be.

So that is the tale of Ashira. A beautiful young woman, who committed no greater crime than falling in love. If we had listened more carefully to her, maybe the disaster could have been averted. But even when she knew it was too late, her first thought was still for her daughter, and not for herself. The rumours of her sharing her bed with daemons and turning to the path of evil are utter falsehoods. Those that spread such tales deceive only themselves.