Queen Sona
As he rounded the soft bend in the walk, he saw another fountain—larger, more elegant, as though it had been set to crown the center of the garden. Water ran in ribbons from a silver sculpture of twined wings, catching the air with a songlike hum that echoed like music whispered. At the bottom, roses of rings bloomed in guarded symmetry: white as snowdrift, gentle as dawn-pink, crimson-deep as blood, and the elusive violet stardusk roses—petals softly alight, as if nibbled by moon. But it was not the roses that Leon noticed.
It was the single figure standing beside the fountain.
She had her back to him, her fingers running lightly over the edge of the flowering roses as though she was enjoying their feel.
