“Ask any question, and I will answer it. Spend time here with anyone from whom you wish to seek answers. Weare not your enemy, and we want the same thing.”
I find myself falling into his eyes as he looks at me with such hope. Such intensity. “I believe you,” I say, the words hushed and precious. How can I not when tonight I felt what I did inside a dragon’s skin? In myownskin. There’s no sense in denying that, at least. What these two warring parties want with power and control means nothing to me. Giving my people possibility is everything. Saving Ninon from her impending fate is vital.
Ozias’s features grow soft and he lowers his head, as if he’s about to say more. Then, he looks over my shoulder and a second later, I hear it, too. Hurried footsteps drawing nearer and louder.
A woman walks in without announcing herself, Atlanta right on her heels. I recognize her as the woman who came to Ozias the other day to talk about Dyeus’s dragons at their border.
“Issa? What is it?”
Issa looks from me to Ozias. She doesn’t speak.
“Anything you need to say can be said in front of Kaisa,” he assures her, all the while looking at me with such an earnest expression I’ve never before witnessed in a man. A wave of affection slinks along my skin.
Issa casts a look to Atlanta, who inclines her head. This appears to be enough for Issa as she strides further into the room, her long legs reaching us in five steps. “Another unforeseen death tonight.”
Ozias’s hands tense on the table. My throat constricts and I have to swallow a few times to ease the sensation.
“That’s the second this week,” he says, and I suspect does so for my benefit.
Issa nods. “The frequency has risen in the past month.”
“Continue tracking them. We’re continuing to include the Nevoban deaths in these numbers?”
“The ones we get information on, yes.”
My eyes widen and I snap my attention to Ozias.
“Very good. Is that all?” he asks, as if he’s expecting more.
“For now. You know there’s always something else,”Issa responds, shaking her head, a weariness taking its toll on her harsh features.
“You’ll have the care packages sent to the families?”
“Already on the way,” Atlanta interjects.
Ozias nods. “I’ll visit when I can.”
“Soon,” Issa says, catching him in a hard stare.
He gives her a gentle smile. “Soon,” he promises.
Issa dips her head, spins on her heels, and leaves. Atlanta ventures further into the room and settles beside us at the table.
“How are you getting that information? From Nevoba?” I ask, casting a glance at them.
Ozias shrugs, his brow quirking knowingly. “Your huntresses aren’t the only ones who interact with the farmhands of Dyeus.”
A shiver works its way down my spine. It doesn’t take me long to figure out how the farmhands get the information they do. Flashes of memories of me lying with one farmhand or the other come to my mind, their whispered words and questions as I drifted off in a sated state. “How do they get that information to you?”
“The Sere is full of useful nooks and crannies. Any one of them might be hiding secrets,” he says.
I hadn’t really wondered until now how Ninon came across the information she found buried with the dragonsbane. In our youth, we found all sorts of things hidden among the rocks of the Sere, placed there by time or wind or hands that came before ours. I’m beginning to wonder if any more Nevobans back home know about this. If they’re waiting for a way to get here, or if they decided against it, for one reason or another.
“Do you not account for deaths in Dyeus?” I inquire.
Atlanta sighs, pulling her mess of curls back from her face and up into a bun. “They don’t have any.”
“We don’t know that,” Ozias retorts.
