She’s going to be the death of him.
Drogyn doesn’t know how or when or who, but he knows Illyria will be involved somehow. His people have the gift that lets them know death is approaching. It stirred for the first time ever when he first found her prison.
So, during his patrols around the Deeper Well, he finds himself coming back to her resting place time after time. So many times he’s peered deep into that sarcophagus, looking for the slightest hint of blue to be no longer there.
During his trips to the outside world, he always hurries through the infrequent visits and conferences. He tells them he has his duty to perform, and they always accept that reason for his taciturn words and hurried manner.
When he returns, the first patrol route is always to search the Well for signs of intruders. It’s just coincidence that he always checks by her first. Prophecies do mention that she will one day be no longer imprisoned, but he’s lived long enough to know that things do not work out exactly as they are written down.
The years pass by like a cloud scudding across the face of the moon – dark, foreboding, and with the inevitable return to come. One day he notices the worn path now trodden to her sarcophagus, but he tells himself the constant visits are only sensible. He’s not obsessed – it’s merely taking proper precautions.
Time seems to drag in the Well, waiting for something to happen, knowing that it will one day happen. And outside, the world changes at a blistering pace. Countries rise to prominence, then fall into barbarism almost overnight. Mankind grows and spreads, death and destruction going hand in hand with him. And all the time, Drogyn watches and paces.
It’s almost a relief to find her gone.