“What are you thinking?” Vasek asked.
“That it is time I spoke with this Rhune.” Imaly nodded, making the decision, confirming it in her own head.
“What are you hoping to discover?”
“The truth.”
The Fhrey were a quiet lot. Suri never heard their footsteps, although she knew someone was always standing guard. The door to her room was closed, but as far as she knew, it wasn’t bolted. Still, just having it shut was enough to bother her, even if it wasn’t in the same way it used to. Suri didn’t feel the gut-clenching fear anymore, but the memory lingered like the bad taste of something that had once made her ill. The space was comfortable, and sunlight entered through a window. Even so, there was no ignoring that she was a prisoner, and no one enjoyed being held captive.
That afternoon the sun’s light was weak, muted by poor weather. She could hear the faint rattle of hail on the roof and glass panes. On a day such as this, she likely would have stayed inside anyway, but that would have been her choice. Having the option made all the difference.
When the door opened, Suri expected to see Nyree again, or if not her then Vasek. Instead, a tall and stocky stranger with gray hair and a broad face fumbled with the door, her asica catching on the latch.
Not at all swanlike.
“Good afternoon. My name is Imaly,” she said in a voice that was loud and deep. “I am the Curator of the Aquila. I would like to speak with you. May I come in?”
May you what? Suri blinked in confusion but nodded just the same.
The Fhrey presented her a pleasant smile, then she did what no other Fhrey had. She walked across the room and extended a hand. “You’re called Suri. Is that correct?”
Suri stared at the Curator’s open palm, a big meaty thing, wrinkled and discolored.
“I’m told shaking hands is a Rhune custom,” Imaly explained. “Something about validating you aren’t hiding a weapon—a proof of trust.”
Suri had never shaken hands before but gave it a try. Imaly’s fingers wrapped around hers, softer and warmer than expected. The woman gave Suri’s hand a stout up-and-down motion before letting go. For two people who had never attempted the ritual before, Suri felt they did well.
Imaly motioned to the bed. “May I sit?”
Suri nodded, and the strange—but clearly polite—Fhrey settled herself at the foot of the bed, clasping her hands neatly in her lap. “Please, sit with me. This might take a while.”
This? Suri wondered what this might be.
“Before we begin, I have something for you.” She reached into the folds of her asica and withdrew a small but familiar bag. “Vasek says this was delivered with you. Jerydd must have thought it would be of use. It’s yours, yes?”
Suri took it, nodding. Opening the mouth, she reached in and pulled out the small knit hat, which brought a smile to her lips.
“First off, I want to apologize for how you’ve been mistreated. None of this was my doing, and when I heard, I took measures to correct the situation. I’m assuming this room is comfortable? Have your meals improved?”
“Yes,” Suri replied, her fingers exploring the little holes amid the stitches in the yarn of Arion’s knit hat.
“Good.” Imaly dipped her head and looked at her clasped hands for just a moment. Then, she raised her eyes and once more focused on Suri. “Now, as I understand it, you came to negotiate peace. This was a meeting previously agreed upon between your leader and mine via pigeons, but as it turned out, Lothian lied to you. The whole thing was a trap designed to obtain the secret to making dragons. Is that so?”
A sense of cautious relief rose in Suri. First she asks permission to enter, and now this?
“You are correct,” Suri said. “And the first one to admit it.”
Imaly smiled. “That’s because I am in favor of peace between our people, and I’m hoping”—she shook her head and sighed as if disgusted to the core—“to salvage what I can from Lothian’s debacle.”
Suri had only a vague idea what salvage meant and no clue about debacle, but she felt it was best not to admit her ignorance since this was the first Fhrey to treat her like a person.
“The impediment to peace is Lothian. He won’t heed my advice, and he’ll never concede to a peaceful resolution. The fane will not accept anything but the complete annihilation of the Rhunes and the Instarya. As fane and a Miralyith, he sees himself as a god, and deities don’t compromise.” She lowered her voice. “It is just one of the reasons I, and several others, hope to remove him from power. Replace him. Unfortunately, that is not an easy thing to do.”
“If you could remove this, I can help.” Suri pulled on the collar that remained snug to her neck—not tight enough to choke, but swallowing wasn’t easy.
Imaly’s sight shifted to the collar. “What would you do if I did?”
“You mean, would I blow apart these walls and rain fire on this city?”
The friendly smile vanished, and the Curator of the Aquila straightened up, her eyes widening. She nodded very slowly. “Yes, that is exactly what I’m asking.”
Suri looked past her at the freezing rain assaulting the window. She had more than thought about it. Suri had fantasized what it would be like to reconnect with the Art. How glorious it would be to pull in the power, let it build, and then release it in a sudden burst.
That would get their attention, demand their respect. They would listen to me just as Gronbach had. Except . . .
“I came here for a reason, and that’s not it.”
Imaly studied her. “I wish I could believe you.”
“I can say the same thing about you, and I have more reason to doubt your sincerity. You admitted that I was lied to and mistreated. I trusted your fane, and he betrayed me. If you truly wish to salvage things . . .” She pulled again on the collar. “Taking this off would be a good first step.”
Imaly continued to stare at the metal ring and frowned. “That would be more difficult than you’d think.”
“A chisel or a saw should do the trick.”
Imaly smiled. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t speaking of the physical removal of . . .” She paused, and her brows narrowed as she stared at Suri’s neck. Something had caught her eye, something new. Imaly lifted a hand toward the collar, then paused. “May I?”
Again with the polite manners.
Suri responded with a shrug.
Imaly touched the collar. Suri felt it move very slightly and heard metal click. For a moment, Suri wondered if she had unclasped it, but the ring didn’t loosen. Nothing changed.
“How strange,” Imaly said after drawing her hand back. “The lock holding your collar closed has no keyhole.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it can’t be taken off, short of, well . . . as you mentioned, cutting it.”
Imaly pressed her lips together, concerned about something.
Suri couldn’t guess what it was and figured Imaly wasn’t prepared to say, so she waited.
Imaly’s face calmed—a decision made or postponed. Then she glanced at the door and asked, “Suri, why did Nyphron send you? He isn’t stupid, and letting someone come here who knows how to make dragons is a massive tactical blunder. Why would he risk someone so valuable?”