Ascension, Chapter 5

 Ok, it's a couple of days late. Sorry, sorry. I've officially accepted that I'm going to fail at NaNo this year, considering that I'd have to write about 2,500 words every day to reach my goal of 30,000 words. Hate to say it, but the degree has to come first. The good news, though, is that I'm still committed to Ascension, and I fully intend to keep posting a minimum of two chapters a week until I finish the first volume. So yay for commitment!
 This chapter is dedicated to Saskia Greenhalgh and Jack Parker, whose comments made my day.

Chapter 5

Naren hurried through the corridors of the palace, keeping to the passages frequented by the servants in order to avoid being spotted by any visiting dignitaries or important guests. He tried to ignore the covert glances of servants and guards as he hurried past. He paused in front of an inconspicuous door, knocked, and entered.

 His father stood in front of the window, the wings folded at his back like a cloak. He barely turned when Naren entered, and only acknowledged him with the slightest nod of his head. Rei and his mother were in deep conversation at a small table, which they broke off as soon as he entered.

 ‘Darling!’ his mother said, rising to her feet and enveloping him in an embrace. She wore the purple robe of a cleric of the Faceless, augmented with a few pieces of jewellery. She had left the order to marry Azrael, although she could still claim certain rights as a member of its order. Like the Ascension of her son.

 ‘M-mother,’ Naren stammered, as she released him. They stood facing each other, her hands resting on his shoulders. He tried to remember the last time that she had hugged him, or even touched him for more than a passing moment.

‘Such a wonderful day,’ she said, finally letting go of him. Behind her, Naren caught his reflection in a floor length mirror. Despite multiple fittings, the military uniform still hung awkwardly on his body. He was growing too fast for the tailors to catch up, he supposed, so that his wrists and ankles were exposed where the fabric wasn’t long enough. But the gold piping and the black shoes gleamed in the light from the window, and his dirty blond hair had been arranged into what could pass as a sort of order.

 ‘You look just like Cristo, my darling boy,’ his mother murmured, following his gaze to the mirror.

 ‘He would be proud, wouldn’t he, darling?’ she turned to Azrael, who still stood by the window.

 ‘It’s time,’ Azrael said, leaving the window and heading towards the large door at the other end of the ante-chamber.

 ‘Do not let me down,’ he said, addressing Naren for the first time. He took his wife’s hand.

 ‘Anything I should know?’ he muttered to his sister, as she came to stand behind him.

 ‘Wait and see, little brother,’ she said, as the door opened and they followed their father into the hall.