Mahrree rolled her eyes in frustration. “What a comforting thought to consider right before I go to sleep.”
He chuckled. “You’re so funny sometimes.”
“I wasn’t being funny.”
She hesitated again, and knew exactly why. She’d been feeling him near her all day, reassuring her that her husband would eventually recover, and trying to keep her calm so her belly wouldn’t tighten.
He also wasn’t pleased that she tried to push away his last mortal advice to her. He was waiting patiently—on the sofa it seemed—for her to come clean with the truth he told her long ago, and what he still told her frequently.
“Perrin, I suppose I should tell you. The night of our first debate, I heard my father whisper in my ear and . . .”
She sighed again, unsure of how he would respond to such an odd revelation.
“He said the world is out to get me. Actually, I thought he was alluding to you at first,” she gabbled on hurriedly, until Perrin’s loud exhale interrupted her.
“Will you believe him? And me?”
Mahrree didn’t expect that. She actually thought he’d squint at her warily and begin inquiring about the state of her mental health. That he so easily accepted that his father-in-law still communicated with her—
Well, maybe he was willing to take any ally he could get tonight, even one that resided in Paradise.
She got the impression that the someone on the sofa was grinning in appreciation before he faded away.
“I’d really rather not believe either of you,” she admitted. “I now realize why it’s easier to just imagine the sky is always blue, no matter what you actually see.”
“But Mahrree,” his tone became tender, almost pleading, “how will believing a lie save you from the truth?”
“It can’t,” she sighed in reluctant agreement. “And I don’t even need to look outside to see the color of the sky. It truly is black, and getting darker.”
“Yes, Mahrree. It is.”
“We could use a little blue,” she decided.
---
Lieutenant Heth had just returned to his quarters late that night, ending a disappointing evening because he was returning alone. What was the point of one’s roommates being out all night if one can’t take advantage of it? He was just unbuttoning his jacket when his door flew open.
“Where is he?!” Chairman Mal barked.
Heth stared at the unusual sight of the Chairman, his white hair disheveled and his red jacket untidy, yelling at him in the middle of the night. Heth glanced around. “Who, sir?”
Mal slammed the door. “You know who—Dormin!”
“I’ve told you sir, I don’t know. He said—”
“I’ve investigated every rubbish remover from here to the edges of the world!” Mal seethed. “No one matches his description, and now I need him more than ever.”
“Why? He’s useless.”
“Not as useless as YOU!” Mal spat, turned, and left the room, shutting the door with a resounding thud.
“And he’s the greatest leader the world has ever seen?” Heth scoffed. “The world doesn’t expect much of its leadership, does it. See?” he said with a smile of planning, “I could still be king.”
He withdrew his long knife from his waistband and gingerly caressed the thin, sharp blade.
“Because I’m fairly certain the same methods to eliminate a Shin will also work on a Mal.”
---
Early in the morning of the 64th Day of Raining Season, 320, Tuma Hifadhi leaned on his cane to watch the young men as they filed before him. Behind the elderly man stood several middle-aged men, their arms folded, watching critically. Last week’s failed raid in the forests above Edge brought everyone out in the snow sooner than they expected.
Things were different now, and the time had come.
Hifadhi evaluated the young men as they lined up in the field covered with new snow, the light of dawn just reaching them. Some of them were as large and strong as draft horses. Others were as quick and sneaky as coyotes. Still others were as quiet and subtle as deer. And each one of them was sharp, clever, and focused.
These ten had been selected out of several dozen, and now each waited patiently for the next stage. The weeding process had been most thorough. Even one of Hifadhi’s grandsons had been rejected, but it wasn’t because of his size or ability; it was because he was married and a father. Whomever Tuma chose would lead a life very different than he had known, and he couldn’t have any ties that might influence him to neglect his duty.
Hifadhi smiled at the confident faces that tried to conceal their apprehension. Some were more successful than others. He looked up and down the line, his gaze pausing just a moment on one young man a little taller and a little broader than the others.