Ezerton glared at Arion. “Our ruler will punish you for this interference.”
Arion smiled back. Had Moya been too far away to hear their words and forced to interpret their exchange only through body language, she would swear they were holding two different conversations. “Ezerton, you are aware there is nothing remotely true in that statement. He’s not my ruler, and I honestly don’t believe he’ll risk losing his best skib partner over something as inconsequential as this.”
“This is not trivial, and you will address me as the Word of Drome.”
Arion rolled her eyes. “Run along and find someone else to bother. Can’t you see we are waiting to greet a loved one?”
With a harrumph, Ezerton, or the Word of Drome, turned and led his retinue up the brick road, moving at a brisk pace.
Arion watched them retreat, then faced Moya with a frown. “That might not have been wise.”
Moya huffed. “Don’t like people assuming they can tell me what to do.”
“You know what bothers me?” Tekchin asked.
Roan, who hadn’t said anything since returning from her visit with Reanna, volunteered an answer. “The fact that all of them have an odd number of ties down the front of their left boots but an even number on their right ones?”
Everyone turned so suddenly to look at her that Roan shrank back. “That wasn’t it?”
“No—ah—I wasn’t thinking that,” Tekchin replied. “I was going to say that none of them was carrying any weapons—no weapons, no armor.”
“Everyone is already dead, and Sarah said you don’t feel pain here,” Moya reminded them. “So why bother? It’s not like they can harm us.”
Tekchin grinned. “Which goes both ways, I suspect. If things turned ugly, I was planning on severing heads. That might not be permanent, but I figure it would slow them down, right?”
“What’s wrong with you people?” Arion asked, aghast.
“Raised badly,” Moya said. “That’s my excuse, at least.” She paused to smile at Roan. “You know, I completely missed that about the bootlaces.”
“Really?” Roan said in disbelief. “It was all I could think about. It’s still driving me crazy. Why would anyone design them that way?”
“Moya, I know I appeared flippant just now with Ezerton, but you really need to be careful,” Arion said. “Drome is the undisputed ruler here. Usually, he’s a good-natured administrator and spends most of his time entertaining himself in his castle, but he is an Aesira, and I don’t take it as a good sign that he’s interested in you.”
Moya wasn’t suitably impressed. “Who cares? If he doesn’t like my attitude, he can kill me—oh wait—no, he can’t. I’m already dead.”
“Well, actually . . .” Arion said and hesitated.
Moya didn’t like the sound of those two words. “Actually, what?”
“Death in Rel isn’t so bad. You are reunited with those you love, there is no fear of pain or growing old, but there are dangers in Phyre. Permanent ones.”
“Such as?”
“You can stop being.”
“How’s that?” Gifford asked.
“We exist only as long as we believe we do, but without faith, you can fade.”
“How could anyone not believe they exist?” Moya asked.
“It’s easier than you might think.” Arion’s tone dropped, and Moya didn’t like the change. The Fhrey had sounded so pleasant up until then. Her new manner felt like an unexpected cold wind. “When living, little annoyances such as hunger or a need for sleep are reminders that you’re alive. But Rel doesn’t have such irritants, so it’s possible to doubt you exist at all. Here, we are reminded of our existence through interaction with others. If you take that away, it’s easy to lose your sense of self.”
“Tell me about it,” Tressa said.
Moya ignored her. “But that’s not something Drome can do to us, right?”
Arion shrugged. “Not really. Truth is, Drome isn’t so terrible. He’s not crazy like his sister. He’s scared of her, I think. Drome likes his realm quiet and stable, but you’re new here and already causing trouble. I’m just saying that it’s not smart to poke a bear while you’re in his cave.”
“That’s fine. We don’t plan on staying.” Moya grinned at her. “We are heading on to Nifrel.” Arion didn’t appear surprised to learn this, and Moya wondered why. “You don’t happen to know where the entrance is, do you?”
“Everyone does. Well, anyone who has been here for any period of time.” She pointed toward the retreating figures in gray. “That road ends at it. Running from one side of Rel to the other, it links the two. In fact . . . the Nifrel Gate is right next to Drome’s castle.”
Moya lost her grin.
“There she is!” The shout came from the front of those assembled, and it drew all of their attentions. Kid Gorgeous—the young fellow standing out front next to Holiman Hunt—had made the outburst as he pointed toward the river.
Moya pushed forward until she reached the front and saw the recently deceased come out of the dark water. There was no mistaking who it was, and while she felt saddened, she was also relieved that it wasn’t Persephone or Suri.
“Padera, my love. It took you long enough!”
The handsome kid rushed forward and the two embraced, kissing as lovers.
Everyone applauded.
Moya waited, watching the reunion and sighing in relief. Brin came over to join her. The Keeper looked confused. When the lovers broke apart, the old woman noticed the pair. “Moya? Brin? By the Grand Mother, what are you two doing here?”
“I suppose we could say the same about you,” Moya said.
“Hardly. I’m long overdue, so that shouldn’t be such a surprise.” The rest of the party joined them, and the old woman appeared shocked. “I’d heard you were going to a swamp, but honestly, I didn’t think it was dangerous. Brin didn’t make it sound that way.”
“It’s a long story,” Brin said. “But you . . . you were fine when I left. You had a bit of a cold, but I didn’t think it was anything serious, and now you’re here and looking so—”
“Brin.” Padera waved her hand, interrupting the girl. “You’re going to think this is odd, but I have a message for you. I thought it was for when you got back, but finding you here . . . well . . .”
“It’s from Malcolm, isn’t it?” Tressa said.
Padera looked over, surprised. “It is. How did you know?”
“Oh, bother that! What did he say?”
“Simmer down. You’re dead and still just as pushy as ever.”
“Get on with it, old woman.”
Padera turned away from Tressa and focused on Brin. “I was tired—body and soul—and just getting into bed when he came in. I was surprised because he’d been gone for years, and most men just don’t walk into a woman’s tent uninvited.”
The face of the handsome young man who had kissed Padera hardened.
She patted his hand and gave him a warm smile. “Wasn’t anything like that. Not to worry. Oh, everyone, this is my husband. Melvin, this is Brin, Roan, Gifford, Moya, Tressa, and the two foreigners over there are Tekchin and Rain.”