“You’re starting to sound like Molin,” Kama mused. “All right, I’ll try to convince Molin to take Rashan seriously. Anything else?”
She pulled her legs in and started to rise.
“If he doesn’t listen, we’ll have to do something… ourselves.”
Kama stopped in mid-ascent, her weight perfectly balanced on one bent leg, then sank gently back to the floor. “Like what?”
Walegrin swallowed hard, the tension in his throat bringing pain to his ears.
“Like… take him out.”
“Shit.”
She stared past him. He hoped he had judged her right and she’d come to the same conclusion he’d already reached; hoped her affection for and loyalty to Molin
Torchholder was strong enough. She laced her fingers through her hair and, unconsciously, brought it around as a curtain to hide her face as she thought.
“Yeah, if it comes to that. If.”
Her hair fell back from her face which reflected that faint starlight. She was sweating now and needed to tug her tunic away from sticky skin like any other mortal.
“How’s your sister, Walegrin?” she asked, sitting beside him in the casement now, seemingly eager to place some other thoughts in the front of her mind.
“The same, I guess.”
Illyra had recovered from her wounds better than they had dreamed possible. A quick glance at her sitting under the shade of the forge awning and no one would suspect that she had lain near death for over a week with a suppurating gouge in her belly where the PFLS ax which had slain her daughter had come to rest. But her spirit-that was another matter.