Sianna had taken the news - and its implications - poorly. The burial had hit her especially sharply; something about putting the king beneath the soil struck her as wrong, and she wasn't able to pinpoint exactly why. For much of the time since that ceremony, she had been astride her horse, in the forested lands around the city. Never far, but far enough. Two days ago she had returned, her time among the trees leaving her soul at least a little more settled. King Gabilgathil was no doubt gazing on fine dawns and coursing fleet stags in the forests of Arvanaith now, free from the burden of a kingdom.<br/><br/>The king's<em>death</em>did not worry her so much now, as his<em>murder</em>. The summons was delivered quietly, by a young lad barely old enough to be a page. For a few hours, Sianna had left it on a table, seal unbroken. Dark worries raced through her mind. Of course it was probably exactly what she thought it was, a summons to audience. But for what? Sienna had heard the rumors that her father might even be implicated. And so, until dusk of that day the little roll of light paper sat, unopened, untouched. When finally she read it by the light of a small glow-globe, the moon's sliver was bright in the sky.<br/><br/>She was a contrast to her half-sister in the chambers; clad in an ash-white gown, her hair loose and unfettered, the only jewelry bedecking her being the silver sigil of Lurue worn as an amulet around her neck. Her step was light, the practiced gait of a tracker, the soft soles of her slippers barely whispering the floor.<br/><br/>As she stepped into the chamber, she graced Jessail with a soft, but very genuine smile.<strong>"Oh, Sister..."</strong>she began, moving to take the other young woman in an embrace, touching forehead to forehead. Sienna's never been one for illusions of propriety, after all.<strong> "How are you holding up?"</strong>she followed, taking a half-step back to look her sister over. Despite herself a small smile teased the corner of her mouth; Jessail certainly owned a lot of silk and black jet jewelry.<em>I thought that was just a phase</em>...<strong>"You <em>look</em> like the weather. Hopefully the sun will break soon."</strong><br/><br/>It was then that the others caught her attention. They collectively got a (somewhat awkward) curtsy from her.<strong>"Distinguished,"</strong>she greeted, eyes following her sister's journey to the wine with ever-so-slight concern. All the somber faces, the dark clothing, the reserved, icy tones. She's no fool, there is plenty to worry about, but it's hard to shake the feeling of being a foreigner in her own home.