They had not been words meant for a seamstress, but they had been heard nonetheless.
By young courier -- and the couriers had returned to their routes with relish; Rhaena's death had inspired a momentary inflation in the price of letter-delivery -- a package wrapped in butcher's paper arrived to Solena's manor. Underneath the waxed parchment wrapping was a stern little box that contained several very familiar artifacts: an age-browned skull, human, a whelp's precious treasure; a small rack of antlers carved with a number of foreign runes; finally, a makeshift pair of wings cobbled together from various smaller bones and feathers.
Underneath these coveted relics was a simple letter on black-smeared paper. The words were bereft of anything but necessity.
Noura,
It is not my right to keep these, there is no need for them to be hiden any longer, I cannot abide Beatrice's gaze any longer, they are yours now that the red and gould are gone.
Be well,
Glour'eya
The courier delivered a second letter to a LADY OF KNIVES. The letter would be quite familiar to Solena, written in her own Elvish script and wrinkled from nearly a year's worth of age -- but it had been folded and preserved with care, if yellowed further by the months.
The seamstress' handwriting was clear and careful. Her ink was drawn on the back of the page.
Solena,
You have said well enough what you must in spokened words, if you wish to have any more with me, I care they be shared as people and not as beasts--
Glour'eya