XLIV

Anarka, fifteen years ago.

"Illarion, wake up… Illarion…," a woman whispered to her son, who was still fall asleep.

The little boy, about ten years of age, squirmed in his sleep, his brows furrowed at the constant disturbance that plagued him. Then, at last, his bead, which was like the darkness of the night, opened heavily.

"Mother…? What is it?" Illarion rubbed his eyes, shifting his gaze from a beautiful woman with jet black hair like himself to the large window at the end of his room. "It's still night, I can still see the stars."

"We have to get out of here," the woman whispered, hastily preparing a bundle of clothes and some jewelry.

Still half-conscious, the little boy had not caught his mother's intentions. "Why? Brother is also going?"

The sea blue eyes looked back at her beloved child, "no," she shook her head weakly. "You told him? Tell Prince Alexander that it was me who healed the bird?"

Illarion sat up straight, his mother's question just now telling him he had made a mi