“Then we will know whether it can hold us,” Rosalind says. “Before the camp fails first.”
Amara drags a hand through her hair, breathing hard.
“You haven’t explained how children fit into this without putting them at risk. The desert is dangerous. Any fool knows that.”
Rosalind arches one eyebrow, meeting Amara’s glare. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes wrinkle, deepening as she frowns.
“I do not propose a march or an exodus. It should be small. Controlled. A small group that Rverre can lead who will then report their findings back.”
“Fine,” Jolie says. “If you insist on this madness I’ll go. Sverre and I will take the risk.”
“No,” Rosalind says. “We cannot risk you or Calista.”
“I’m not staying here while you send my daughter into?—”
“Jolie,” Rosalind says. She doesn’t raise her voice, if anything she lowers it. Soft and filled with the understanding only another mother could have. “You and Calista are our best hope of solving the food crisis. The work that Lia brought back has only just begun.”
Jolie’s face drains of color. She shakes her head. Dark hair swinging across her face with the force of it. Her almond shaped eyes clenching tight.
“No,” Jolie whispers.
She looks to Calista, gripping both of her shoulders. Amara closes in from behind her. I hear her sob and my throat clenches tight. I feel her pain. The children may not be mine, but the thought of anything happening one of them… I cannot even bear to consider it.
Rosalind shifts her gaze to me then she speaks in her normal, authoritarian tone.
“You,” she pronounces. “You will not be sent because you are expendable. Far from it. You will be sent because you are stabilizing. You understand what calms her. What overwhelms her. What she needs when the world pulls too hard.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t argue. I feel the decision settling, solid and unavoidable.
“And security?” Padraig asks.
Korr moves then, just a step forward from the entrance.
“She can’t go,” he says.
“I do not see any other options,” Rosalind says, jaw tight.
“No,” Korr says.
“You do not have rights to speak—” Padraig says, heaving his massive size up and onto his feet, clearly ready so settle this with his fists, but Rosalind stops him with one raised hand. He harumphs and drops into his chair which miraculously holds under his bulk.
Korr, for his part, doesn’t seem in the least bit disturbed by the threat, real or perceived.
“No one else can work with Rverre,” Rosalind says. “She goes.”
Jolie makes a strangled sound but before she can speak Amara and Calista pull her back, whispering amongst themselves. Korr stares at Rosalind, frowning deep enough that his tusks tilt until they almost touch his nose.
“No one?” he asks, darting a glance at me.
What is his problem with me?
“No,” Rosalind answer.
Korr nods slowly. Thoughtfully.
“I go,” he says simply.
It isn’t a declaration so much as a statement of fact. Rosalind looks him up and down, studying him. Before she acknowledge his words she looks at the Urr’ki Queen. The Queen is short for one of her species, a delicate looking woman in ornate dress that complements the green of her skin. She nods to Rosalind, a silent signal of support. Rosalind inclines her head then looks at Korr.
