“Why is it so important he’s involved?” Yael asked, her voice low.
“Because he has a stake in this too.” No one group of people should have knowledge on this scale over another. “Everyone hasa stake. It’s not the kind of thing that should be a secret, so I won’t keep it one. It’s Daziel’s business—shedim business—just as much as it’s human.”
Gidon looked like he might rip his curls out of his head. “Is it about the magic being off?”
I spread my hands.
Yael pressed her thin lips together. “You’re not leaving us much choice.”
“Why are you the one who gets to decide what’s best?” Stefan asked.
I blew out a breath. “Look, I don’t love this either. I’m trying to do the best I can.” As the words slipped out, I realized how closely they echoed what Daziel had said to me.
“Will it be dangerous to give this information back to Daziel or the shedim?” Yael asked.
“I don’t think so. But Daziel raised the possibility the government might not want students knowing about this. They might try to cut us—and him—out.”
“Hm,” Yael said.
Daziel whipped out a contract and laid it before the others. “You can sign or not,” he said. “I’m not trying to trick you. I just want to stay informed, because I don’t trust the government—yours or mine, frankly—to move as quickly and as urgently as we should. And this should help with deciphering the scrolls.”
“What are we supposed to say to that?” Stefan said, grinning slightly. He scrutinized the contract and signed first. Yael took the pen next, then Gidon, and once all their signatures had been inked, they gazed at us expectantly.
I let out a relieved breath, then took another to steel myself.Daziel took and squeezed my hand. Part of me wanted to yank my hand away, reject him with as much ice as I could muster, but though I was mad, the comfort of his touch spread through me like a glowing warmth. “Daziel thinks the scroll is about the Ziz.”
My cohort blinked.
“Sorry,” Gidon said after a moment. “What?”
Yael had that narrow-eyed look of hers. “Explain.”
I looked at Daziel, in case he wanted to jump in, but he appeared to be having a staring contest with Paz. “He thinks the Ziz is hurt, or sick, which is why the winds are off and why the birds left. He thinks the scrolls explain how to heal the Ziz.”
They stared at me as though I’d sprouted Daziel’s wings. Then they stared at him.
“The Ziz is injured,” Yael said, as though processing the words, “and this is why the magic is off?”
“That’s insane,” Stefan said. “The Ziz can’t get injured. Is the Ziz even real?”
“Counterpoint,” I said. “What if it is and can?”
“The Ziz—all the primordial beasts—they’re the strongest things in the world,” Stefan said. “I thought they were spiritual, not corporeal. What’s going to hurt them? God?”
“Each other?” I suggested.
Gidon looked confounded. “Wouldn’t we have noticed if the primordial beasts had earthly bodies?”
“Humans aren’t really in the habit of noticing things,” Daziel said lightly. “Sometimes it’s like you’re trying not to.”
All the humans in the room decided to ignore that.
“If this is real,” Yael said, leaning forward, gripping her knees, “if the primordial beasts are capable of being injured and affecting magic—this is a big deal. It needs to be addressed. Allresources—the Sanhedrin, the Lyceum—should be on figuring out how to cure the Ziz and fix the magic.”
“I told you they’d want to tell people,” Daziel whispered.
“The Sanhedrin might not believe us,” I cautioned. “The information comes from Daziel, and they think shedim are mischievous and untrustworthy. Also, in case they decide we can’t work on the scrolls anymore, I think we should make copies before telling anyone.”
I half expected the others to argue, but it turned out no one wanted to give up the chance to be the one to decipher the scrolls, especially if it meant we’d be saving a divine beast at the same time. “Fine by me,” Yael said.
