Shadowdancer 912 years. Today had marked that they had survived 12 years. So many changes had happened to the twins, changes for good or ill. Today would also mark a new stepping stone in this dark world. Matron Shyntyl sat in her chair. A slave stood just to one side, separating the matron's long, silvery strands into sections with a spider-bone comb. Purple dye had streaked the ends adding color to otherwise perfect hair. Zebeycyrl strode into her mother's chamber confidently. Her deep blue robe neatly pressed against her lithe form, a two headed snake scourge in her belt.
"Twelve," she said bluntly.
The handmaid said nothing as she continued braiding the matriarch's hair into long, thin threads before pinning them behind an elegant ear and moving to the next section. The matron mother smirked, knowing exactly what this was about. Just a couple days ago, they had watched as the youngest Kilanatlar slay her favorite slave. It was reminiscent of what matrons often were called to do with their favori