Chapter 8: No Time for Secrets — The Key of Oslov

Volume 18: Oslov Unlocked

Chapter 8 No Time for Secrets

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

25 October, year 374, noon

Since Davita was just back from the Southern Range, Tilrey gave her a few hours to catch up with her work in the Sector. Then he went straight to her office, where he found her secretary, Irina, looking a little desperate.“Go right in,” the young woman whispered, pointing at the door to the inner office. Her expression said, Watch yourself, she’s in a mood.Tilrey nodded his appreciation. Though they’d never explicitly discussed their respective positions supporting the General Magistrate, he and Irina looked out for each other as much as they could.Gersha had already done his utmost to get Ceill freed, but it couldn’t help to try a few other tactics. At the very least, Tilrey might be able to find out who was heading the investigation.He entered the inner office, closing the door softly behind him. “Finally,” Davita said without turning from her computer screen.He opened his mouth to apologize for not coming earlier. But before he could say anything, the Magistrate rose and wrapped her arms tightly around him.“I’m so sorry,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “You must be a wreck—I know poor Gersha is.”The sympathy felt so genuine that, for once, Tilrey was at a loss for words. His throat tightened, and heat rose behind his eyes. He couldn’t let the tears fall, though; here in the office, she liked him strong and pragmatic, not driven by emotion.Davita led him over to her desk chair and sat him in it, then perched herself on his lap. “Poor, poor Rishka,” she said. “This is a nightmare. Councillors don’t get their throats slit! At least you had the sense to rush home from Harbour as soon as you heard. My fool of a husband is so busy with his boyfriend that he can’t be bothered.”Gersha must have told her that Tilrey had returned the day after the murder, rather than the day before. It was a careless lie, but at least there was no paper trail to disprove it, since he hadn’t taken the official shuttle.“I couldn’t wait, so I called in a favor at the garrison and got a ride with one of our fighter pilots,” he said, telling just enough of the truth. “Poor Ambassador Ludtten will be wondering what happened to me.”“Thank everything green you’re here. Half our colleagues are panicking and making fools of themselves.”Our. It was a small slip, speaking to him as if he were a Councillor, but Tilrey caught it. His reflex was to soothe her; he stroked her arms, murmuring, “Shhh, we’ll work it out.”“Sweetheart, I already have.” Davita kissed his forehead. “Blas will lead the investigation. I’ll be informed of everything as it happens, and everything will be fine—if I can get everyone else to be sensible.”“Blas?” Tilrey withdrew from the embrace, startled. “Gersha told me he said no.”“Oh, he tried to.” A triumphant smile. “He held out for a night. But my son understands his duty, Rishka. Anyway, he can’t go to work in the Ring Eight barracks—haven’t you heard? They’ve been invaded.”“Invaded? By whom?” Now he was the tense one, itching to push her off him and spring up.“Local youths protesting the arrest of their favorite stream actor.” Davita’s voice shook just a little, belying her breezy tone. “But there were enough of them to seize control of the barracks, so I gave the go-ahead to send in troops and attack helicopters. They started with non-lethal measures and gave the disruptors fair warning. The rabble was cleared out in an hour.”Cleared out? Tilrey knew he should compliment her on her speedy action, but he didn’t like what those words implied. “So there were no casualties, Fir’n?”“Not if those people had any sense. I’ll get the report later today.” Davita bounced to her feet, off his lap, and paced the length of the room. “But these are shirkers, Tilrey, like the people who attacked my son on the street! My sympathy is limited.”“Of course.” He spoke smoothly, hiding his feelings. Could some of the “rabble” be True Hearth, or were they really only stream fans, free agents? “I’m just a little shaken. Workers taking over a police barracks? That doesn’t happen—shouldn’t happen.”“And it won’t happen again.” Davita kept pacing, her jaw set and her head high. “We’ve allowed stream makers too much freedom. It’s one thing for Drudges to have distractions—I know all my colleagues had a good laugh over the episode about Lindahl—but these people can’t be allowed to mock us. You see where it leads?”These people. You’re talking about people like me. Perhaps, in the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten.Tilrey stood up, his head pounding with the effort of keeping his voice calm. “People protesting and dying over the arrest of a stream actor? You’re right—that’s absurd. But maybe we shouldn’t be too quick to jump to conclusions about the case.”“Meaning what?”“Lindahl was high-strung and sometimes casually cruel, may his last moment be bright. You know that almost as well as I do.”Davita looked quizzical. “I suppose you know better than me. I didn’t have to share his bed.No, you didn’t. “I don’t know what happened in that room at the Brothel. But we can’t rule out the possibility that Stefan Altmering was defending himself.”He expected Davita to rebuff the suggestion, but she seemed to have put her vehemence aside. “We can’t rule out anything, no—that’s what Blas is for. Blas will get to the truth.” She returned to Tilrey and stroked his upper arms, gazing up into his eyes. “Poor Rishka! This will all be over soon.”Her closeness felt hot and heavy now, oppressive. He was just about to shake off her touch—damn the consequences—when they heard a knock.“Rina?” There was a warning growl in Davita’s voice. “I said not to disturb me.”“I told her so, but she won’t leave!” The words came in a frantic hiss through a crack in the door. “She wants to see Bronn, Fir’n Magistrate. It’s Fir’n Linnett.”“Vera?” Davita released Tilrey, the stern lines of her face softening. “Poor woman. I’ve been expecting her, too. Let her in.”Vera was one of the last people Tilrey wanted to see right now. He’d been trying not to think about her. But before he could ask Davita, Are you sure?, the door opened all the way. The mother of his son strode into the room.There were rings of fatigue around Vera’s eyes, but she didn’t look sad. She looked angry.She walked straight up to him as if Davita weren’t there. “When you weren’t in your office, I knew you were here. Can we talk? Now, alone?”Words jammed up in Tilrey’s throat. He was relieved when Davita stepped toward Vera with arms open, creating a distraction. “Dear Vera, I know exactly what you’re feeling. But you mustn’t be afraid. As I was just telling Tilrey, my Blas has taken charge of the investigation. Ceill will be free and clear in no time.”Vera allowed Davita to hug her, but her eyes flashed at Tilrey over the Magistrate’s shoulder. She said, “I’m grateful for your intervention, Davita. Gersha mentioned that Blas might get involved. May I talk to Tilrey in private?”“Of course!” All magnanimity, Davita released Vera and waved Tilrey toward the door. “I’ll see you this afternoon at our emergency session, Rishka. The two of you need time alone.”I don’t need it, and I don’t want it! But Tilrey had no choice; Vera deserved better than Davita’s empty promises. He wouldn’t be able to tell her the whole truth, though, the way he had with Gersha. And that would make everything harder.He followed Vera silently down the corridor and back into Gersha’s outer office, where he closed and locked the door. Then he said, “I know you’re upset, but I think we can trust Davita on this.”“Trust her?” Vera’s face was dead white. Now that they were away from Davita, the pitch and volume of her voice lurched upward. “How can I trust any of you? I was sitting in Thurskein with your mother, cooking turnip fritters and waiting for my son to arrive for a holiday, when Gersha messaged me to say he’s been locked in Int/Sec as a witness to murder!”This is all my fucking fault. Tilrey sat down at the desk without offering Vera a seat. Normally he still went through the motions of deference with her, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to keep him upright. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. All I could think about was getting him out.” Never mind the detour I took to see Ansha.Tears pressed on his eyes again, and he wondered if he should let them fall this time. “Ceill will be free soon, Vera. He’s not a suspect.”Vera’s lips thinned. When she spoke again, she sounded almost calm. “Tilrey, did you have anything to do with this murder?”Had Gersha told her something? No, Gersha knew better. “Of course not. Why would I?”“I know you have dealings with the Brothel director.” Tilrey’s face must have shown his surprise, because Vera’s eyes flashed again, defiant. “How do I know? Your mother told me, and she also told me to let you think I’m in the dark about your whole secret life. It’s easier for you, she says. But this is no time for secrets.”“I don’t have a secret life!” Tilrey felt as if he were falling into a crevasse, his fingers clawing desperately at walls of pure ice. How could Lisha have told Vera about his dealings with Einara? How much else had she told her?“She said you’d react this way.” Vera sighed—not in the overdramatic way he remembered from when they were younger, but as if she really were at her wits’ end. “Your mother didn’t betray you, Tilrey. She only started talking to me because Mal had already told me some things. And Mal only talked because I’d noticed things myself.”“What kind of things?” He still couldn’t seem to draw a proper breath. If Vera knew about the True Hearth, then they were damned lucky she hadn’t been questioned during Karishkov’s lockdown of Sector Six.“Tilrey, I’ve been administering Sector Six of Thurskein for twenty years. I’m not stupid. I can tell when people are disappearing, trickling off to the south, and I can certainly tell when people are plotting a revolution.”Vera’s voice dropped on the last word. But Tilrey said sharply, “Don’t ever, ever discuss your . . . suspicions here in the Sector. This isn’t a game.”“And they aren’t just suspicions, and I’m not nineteen and playing at rebellion anymore. Please give me at least credit for being an adult.”“I never said—”“Your mother said you wouldn’t trust me as an ally because I would always be a Linnett to you. I guess she was right, but that doesn’t matter now. I need to know the truth. Did Ceill have something to do with this murder? Did you?”“No! How could you think that?” He’d wondered sometimes whether Vera had any suspicions about the True Hearth and his involvement in it. It had never occurred to him that she might know everything and not be saying a word.Did she know Gersha was involved, too? Why hadn’t she turned him in? Or was Gersha right to say that Tilrey underestimated her?“I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said, forcing himself to look steadily at her. Or as much as I can safely tell you. “Ceill had nothing to do with Councillor Lindahl’s murder. He was in the wrong bed at the wrong time because he was distraught over Janta suddenly leaving us.”He explained the situation as well as he could without telling her where Janta was. Vera listened, nodding, clearly not shocked by Ceill’s visits to the Brothel or by the bond between Ceill and Janta. Their son must have been more open with her than he’d thought.When he finished, she said, “So, if Ceill’s only a witness to the whereabouts of this Stefan, then they’ll take a statement and release him.”“I hope so.” Tilrey’s body felt so heavy; he couldn’t imagine rising from this chair again. “That’s what they should do.”“But it’s Int/Sec.” A flicker of disgust in her eyes. “They’ll do what they want. Tilrey, I heard two people on the tram say they’d seen smoke rising from Ring Eight. What’s happening there?”“Protests.” He shouldn’t be telling her, but he was too tired to lie. “The workers refuse to accept the stream actor’s arrest. He’s a hero to them, I guess.”Vera nodded again—brisk, businesslike. “This isn’t something you organized? You and your . . . group?”As if he could have had the energy! “No. It’s organic, like the students with their snow fort. The sap rationing is eating away at people, I think. Now that they can’t escape chemically, they see how limited their lives really are.”Davita would have dismissed this theory with a flick of her fingers, and he half expected Vera to do the same. He was all too familiar with the high Upstart worldview: What did students or workers have to complain about? Their lives were free and luxurious. They were ungrateful.Vera didn’t dismiss his theory. She strode over to his chair and bent so that their faces were a few inches apart. Her whole body vibrated—not with rage, as he thought at first, but with excitement.“Then this is the perfect time,” she said. “Tilrey, what are you waiting for? Why can’t you give the signal?”“The signal to what?” They were both whispering now, though he was reasonably sure the office was free of surveillance equipment.“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Her breath was hot on his cheek. “Ceill doesn’t have to sit in Int/Sec. If the workers are ready to rise—well, there are more of them than of us. And you can lead them.”After all these years, did she still want him to be her romantic hero? He shook his head. “I can’t control these people. I don’t know how much Mal and Lisha told you, but there’s a plan, and we haven’t reached the final stage. It depends on how things go in Harbour in the next few years.”“Years!” Vera straightened up with a jerk. She marched to the other end of the antechamber, turned sharply, and returned to him. “Our son can’t wait years! You said it yourself, everyone’s angry. People want change. Why can’t you act now?”Tilrey hadn’t seen her like this since she was at University. It frightened him a little. Perhaps, deep down, he was the one who was afraid of revolution—Einara might say so, anyway.Last night, he and Gersha had discussed the very possibility that Vera was describing—taking advantage of the unrest to make a bold move. They had put it aside for now, but the chaos in Ring Eight might change that. Maybe it was time to accept the mother of their son as an ally.“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Just a little? That you’re playing with fire?”Vera drew herself up and looked down at him with pure ferocity. “I’m not afraid of people like you or Lisha or Mal, Tilrey. I’m not afraid of change. As long as my son is safe, I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

25 October, year 374, noon

“Go right in,” the young woman whispered, pointing at the door to the inner office. Her expression said, Watch yourself, she’s in a mood.

Tilrey nodded his appreciation. Though they’d never explicitly discussed their respective positions supporting the General Magistrate, he and Irina looked out for each other as much as they could.

Gersha had already done his utmost to get Ceill freed, but it couldn’t help to try a few other tactics. At the very least, Tilrey might be able to find out who was heading the investigation.

He entered the inner office, closing the door softly behind him. “Finally,” Davita said without turning from her computer screen.

He opened his mouth to apologize for not coming earlier. But before he could say anything, the Magistrate rose and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “You must be a wreck—I know poor Gersha is.”

The sympathy felt so genuine that, for once, Tilrey was at a loss for words. His throat tightened, and heat rose behind his eyes. He couldn’t let the tears fall, though; here in the office, she liked him strong and pragmatic, not driven by emotion.

Davita led him over to her desk chair and sat him in it, then perched herself on his lap. “Poor, poor Rishka,” she said. “This is a nightmare. Councillors don’t get their throats slit! At least you had the sense to rush home from Harbour as soon as you heard. My fool of a husband is so busy with his boyfriend that he can’t be bothered.”

Gersha must have told her that Tilrey had returned the day after the murder, rather than the day before. It was a careless lie, but at least there was no paper trail to disprove it, since he hadn’t taken the official shuttle.

“I couldn’t wait, so I called in a favor at the garrison and got a ride with one of our fighter pilots,” he said, telling just enough of the truth. “Poor Ambassador Ludtten will be wondering what happened to me.”

“Thank everything green you’re here. Half our colleagues are panicking and making fools of themselves.”

Our. It was a small slip, speaking to him as if he were a Councillor, but Tilrey caught it. His reflex was to soothe her; he stroked her arms, murmuring, “Shhh, we’ll work it out.”

“Sweetheart, I already have.” Davita kissed his forehead. “Blas will lead the investigation. I’ll be informed of everything as it happens, and everything will be fine—if I can get everyone else to be sensible.”

“Blas?” Tilrey withdrew from the embrace, startled. “Gersha told me he said no.”

“Oh, he tried to.” A triumphant smile. “He held out for a night. But my son understands his duty, Rishka. Anyway, he can’t go to work in the Ring Eight barracks—haven’t you heard? They’ve been invaded.”

“Invaded? By whom?” Now he was the tense one, itching to push her off him and spring up.

“Local youths protesting the arrest of their favorite stream actor.” Davita’s voice shook just a little, belying her breezy tone. “But there were enough of them to seize control of the barracks, so I gave the go-ahead to send in troops and attack helicopters. They started with non-lethal measures and gave the disruptors fair warning. The rabble was cleared out in an hour.”

Cleared out? Tilrey knew he should compliment her on her speedy action, but he didn’t like what those words implied. “So there were no casualties, Fir’n?”

“Not if those people had any sense. I’ll get the report later today.” Davita bounced to her feet, off his lap, and paced the length of the room. “But these are shirkers, Tilrey, like the people who attacked my son on the street! My sympathy is limited.”

“Of course.” He spoke smoothly, hiding his feelings. Could some of the “rabble” be True Hearth, or were they really only stream fans, free agents? “I’m just a little shaken. Workers taking over a police barracks? That doesn’t happen—shouldn’t happen.”

“And it won’t happen again.” Davita kept pacing, her jaw set and her head high. “We’ve allowed stream makers too much freedom. It’s one thing for Drudges to have distractions—I know all my colleagues had a good laugh over the episode about Lindahl—but these people can’t be allowed to mock us. You see where it leads?”

These people. You’re talking about people like me. Perhaps, in the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten.

Tilrey stood up, his head pounding with the effort of keeping his voice calm. “People protesting and dying over the arrest of a stream actor? You’re right—that’s absurd. But maybe we shouldn’t be too quick to jump to conclusions about the case.”

“Meaning what?”

“Lindahl was high-strung and sometimes casually cruel, may his last moment be bright. You know that almost as well as I do.”

Davita looked quizzical. “I suppose you know better than me. I didn’t have to share his bed.

No, you didn’t. “I don’t know what happened in that room at the Brothel. But we can’t rule out the possibility that Stefan Altmering was defending himself.”

He expected Davita to rebuff the suggestion, but she seemed to have put her vehemence aside. “We can’t rule out anything, no—that’s what Blas is for. Blas will get to the truth.” She returned to Tilrey and stroked his upper arms, gazing up into his eyes. “Poor Rishka! This will all be over soon.”

Her closeness felt hot and heavy now, oppressive. He was just about to shake off her touch—damn the consequences—when they heard a knock.

“Rina?” There was a warning growl in Davita’s voice. “I said not to disturb me.”

“I told her so, but she won’t leave!” The words came in a frantic hiss through a crack in the door. “She wants to see Bronn, Fir’n Magistrate. It’s Fir’n Linnett.”

“Vera?” Davita released Tilrey, the stern lines of her face softening. “Poor woman. I’ve been expecting her, too. Let her in.”

Vera was one of the last people Tilrey wanted to see right now. He’d been trying not to think about her. But before he could ask Davita, Are you sure?, the door opened all the way. The mother of his son strode into the room.

There were rings of fatigue around Vera’s eyes, but she didn’t look sad. She looked angry.

She walked straight up to him as if Davita weren’t there. “When you weren’t in your office, I knew you were here. Can we talk? Now, alone?”

Words jammed up in Tilrey’s throat. He was relieved when Davita stepped toward Vera with arms open, creating a distraction. “Dear Vera, I know exactly what you’re feeling. But you mustn’t be afraid. As I was just telling Tilrey, my Blas has taken charge of the investigation. Ceill will be free and clear in no time.”

Vera allowed Davita to hug her, but her eyes flashed at Tilrey over the Magistrate’s shoulder. She said, “I’m grateful for your intervention, Davita. Gersha mentioned that Blas might get involved. May I talk to Tilrey in private?”

“Of course!” All magnanimity, Davita released Vera and waved Tilrey toward the door. “I’ll see you this afternoon at our emergency session, Rishka. The two of you need time alone.”

I don’t need it, and I don’t want it! But Tilrey had no choice; Vera deserved better than Davita’s empty promises. He wouldn’t be able to tell her the whole truth, though, the way he had with Gersha. And that would make everything harder.

He followed Vera silently down the corridor and back into Gersha’s outer office, where he closed and locked the door. Then he said, “I know you’re upset, but I think we can trust Davita on this.”

“Trust her?” Vera’s face was dead white. Now that they were away from Davita, the pitch and volume of her voice lurched upward. “How can I trust any of you? I was sitting in Thurskein with your mother, cooking turnip fritters and waiting for my son to arrive for a holiday, when Gersha messaged me to say he’s been locked in Int/Sec as a witness to murder!”

This is all my fucking fault. Tilrey sat down at the desk without offering Vera a seat. Normally he still went through the motions of deference with her, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to keep him upright. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. All I could think about was getting him out.” Never mind the detour I took to see Ansha.

Tears pressed on his eyes again, and he wondered if he should let them fall this time. “Ceill will be free soon, Vera. He’s not a suspect.”

Vera’s lips thinned. When she spoke again, she sounded almost calm. “Tilrey, did you have anything to do with this murder?”

Had Gersha told her something? No, Gersha knew better. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“I know you have dealings with the Brothel director.” Tilrey’s face must have shown his surprise, because Vera’s eyes flashed again, defiant. “How do I know? Your mother told me, and she also told me to let you think I’m in the dark about your whole secret life. It’s easier for you, she says. But this is no time for secrets.”

“I don’t have a secret life!” Tilrey felt as if he were falling into a crevasse, his fingers clawing desperately at walls of pure ice. How could Lisha have told Vera about his dealings with Einara? How much else had she told her?

“She said you’d react this way.” Vera sighed—not in the overdramatic way he remembered from when they were younger, but as if she really were at her wits’ end. “Your mother didn’t betray you, Tilrey. She only started talking to me because Mal had already told me some things. And Mal only talked because I’d noticed things myself.”

“What kind of things?” He still couldn’t seem to draw a proper breath. If Vera knew about the True Hearth, then they were damned lucky she hadn’t been questioned during Karishkov’s lockdown of Sector Six.

“Tilrey, I’ve been administering Sector Six of Thurskein for twenty years. I’m not stupid. I can tell when people are disappearing, trickling off to the south, and I can certainly tell when people are plotting a revolution.”

Vera’s voice dropped on the last word. But Tilrey said sharply, “Don’t ever, ever discuss your . . . suspicions here in the Sector. This isn’t a game.”

“And they aren’t just suspicions, and I’m not nineteen and playing at rebellion anymore. Please give me at least credit for being an adult.”

“I never said—”

“Your mother said you wouldn’t trust me as an ally because I would always be a Linnett to you. I guess she was right, but that doesn’t matter now. I need to know the truth. Did Ceill have something to do with this murder? Did you?”

“No! How could you think that?” He’d wondered sometimes whether Vera had any suspicions about the True Hearth and his involvement in it. It had never occurred to him that she might know everything and not be saying a word.

Did she know Gersha was involved, too? Why hadn’t she turned him in? Or was Gersha right to say that Tilrey underestimated her?

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said, forcing himself to look steadily at her. Or as much as I can safely tell you. “Ceill had nothing to do with Councillor Lindahl’s murder. He was in the wrong bed at the wrong time because he was distraught over Janta suddenly leaving us.”

He explained the situation as well as he could without telling her where Janta was. Vera listened, nodding, clearly not shocked by Ceill’s visits to the Brothel or by the bond between Ceill and Janta. Their son must have been more open with her than he’d thought.

When he finished, she said, “So, if Ceill’s only a witness to the whereabouts of this Stefan, then they’ll take a statement and release him.”

“I hope so.” Tilrey’s body felt so heavy; he couldn’t imagine rising from this chair again. “That’s what they should do.”

“But it’s Int/Sec.” A flicker of disgust in her eyes. “They’ll do what they want. Tilrey, I heard two people on the tram say they’d seen smoke rising from Ring Eight. What’s happening there?”

“Protests.” He shouldn’t be telling her, but he was too tired to lie. “The workers refuse to accept the stream actor’s arrest. He’s a hero to them, I guess.”

Vera nodded again—brisk, businesslike. “This isn’t something you organized? You and your . . . group?”

As if he could have had the energy! “No. It’s organic, like the students with their snow fort. The sap rationing is eating away at people, I think. Now that they can’t escape chemically, they see how limited their lives really are.”

Davita would have dismissed this theory with a flick of her fingers, and he half expected Vera to do the same. He was all too familiar with the high Upstart worldview: What did students or workers have to complain about? Their lives were free and luxurious. They were ungrateful.

Vera didn’t dismiss his theory. She strode over to his chair and bent so that their faces were a few inches apart. Her whole body vibrated—not with rage, as he thought at first, but with excitement.

“Then this is the perfect time,” she said. “Tilrey, what are you waiting for? Why can’t you give the signal?”

“The signal to what?” They were both whispering now, though he was reasonably sure the office was free of surveillance equipment.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Her breath was hot on his cheek. “Ceill doesn’t have to sit in Int/Sec. If the workers are ready to rise—well, there are more of them than of us. And you can lead them.”

After all these years, did she still want him to be her romantic hero? He shook his head. “I can’t control these people. I don’t know how much Mal and Lisha told you, but there’s a plan, and we haven’t reached the final stage. It depends on how things go in Harbour in the next few years.”

“Years!” Vera straightened up with a jerk. She marched to the other end of the antechamber, turned sharply, and returned to him. “Our son can’t wait years! You said it yourself, everyone’s angry. People want change. Why can’t you act now?”

Tilrey hadn’t seen her like this since she was at University. It frightened him a little. Perhaps, deep down, he was the one who was afraid of revolution—Einara might say so, anyway.

Last night, he and Gersha had discussed the very possibility that Vera was describing—taking advantage of the unrest to make a bold move. They had put it aside for now, but the chaos in Ring Eight might change that. Maybe it was time to accept the mother of their son as an ally.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Just a little? That you’re playing with fire?”

Vera drew herself up and looked down at him with pure ferocity. “I’m not afraid of people like you or Lisha or Mal, Tilrey. I’m not afraid of change. As long as my son is safe, I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, thanks so much for reading! I hope everybody’s doing well out there and not suffering too much from the heat.

Chapter End Notes

As always, thanks so much for reading! I hope everybody’s doing well out there and not suffering too much from the heat.