“Well, twenty years ago…”
The God of Scripture sits still with his eyes locked on mine as I tell only some of the events that happened that day in the Abandon when the guys rebelled. I stick to sharing the facts I know and only expressing my own opinion about the situation. How it affected the guys individually will never leave my lips, but I do point out that it changed them in a way that’s lasted this long.
His gaze flares just briefly when I mention the Law of Doppia Disaccord, but other than that, he doesn’t interrupt.
Not once.
When I finish, silence follows the echo of my sharp exhale for a long moment.
“You seek to undo this agreement that was written without their consent.”
He doesn’t ask, he states.
“Yes, sir.”
His gaze settles fully on me. It’s sharp, but not unkind.
“And you—well, your Valtrue—intends to replace it with choice.”
Another statement.
“Yes, sir.”
He runs his hand across his jaw multiple times as he seems to lose himself in his thoughts. I don’t push or break his moment. No one does.
“Do you know who tells the scripture after conflict, Ms. Godrun?”
I swallow.
I do, actually. Lambrit used to always complain about never getting both sides of a story.
“Yes, sir. The victor.”
“That’s correct,” he says. “It’s very rare that we get to hear the side of the fallen, and in your Valtrue members’ story, they were undoubtedly on the losing side of that story.”
My throat clogs and I clear it repeatedly so I can get my voice to work.
“They didn’t lose everything at least.”
“That’s a positive way of looking at it.”
I give him a pinched smile. “I’m trying to stay as positive as possible these days.”
His gaze scans everyone in the room. He stays focused on Lambrit for a heartbeat before shifting in his chair.
“Bring it forward then.”
My brows scrunch together. “I’m sorry?”
“The parchment I need to sign.”
“Really?” Lambrit asks before I can.
“Yes. A bitter tea I’ve always had to drink in my position as the God of Scripture—one you’ll learn, boy—is I’ve never been given a choice on what I wish to write. Only what is told to me. If those boys have an opportunity to rewrite a fate that’s already been written for them, I’ll aid them.”
Yemi passes him the parchment without a second thought, and my breath catches as he lifts his hand and flicks his wrist. A long, black silk quill appears in his fingers and my lips part.
“Ah, beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. “Came off my companion, Perchen. Oh, he was furious when I plucked it from his wing. Granted, I only did that after he dropped me out of the sky. Menacing Veilatara.”
