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His expression changed before she could hide it.

“Kesta.”

“I know.”

“You cannot hold every dead person in your head every moment.”

Her irritation rose automatically. “That sounds suspiciously like advice.”

“It is.”

“I did not ask.”

“No.”

There was enough dry patience in his face to annoy her further.

Then he added, “You are still allowed to take it.”

Kesta stared at him.

The edge of her anger softened despite herself.

“Difficult male.”

Dreven's eyes warmed. “I have been told.”

Nethra caught Kesta as she left the chamber.

The older Kharovian waited until the others had moved ahead before touching two fingers lightly to Kesta’s sleeve. Her expression had lost the challenging amusement she had worn during the council.

“You think Dreven claims people because he enjoys holding them.”

Kesta glanced back through the open doorway. Dreven remained at the table with Pela and Keth, already bent over condenser projections.

“I think he is very comfortable being responsible for everyone.”

Nethra gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Comfortable is not the word.”

“What is?”

The older woman looked toward Dreven.

For a moment grief altered her face.

“Avarra.”

Kesta frowned. “Who is Avarra?”

“His sister.”

The answer landed differently than she expected.

Nethra’s silver eyes remained on the council chamber. “She was younger than he was and better at disobeying him. He loved her more than he understood how to survive.”

“What happened to her?”

Nethra looked at Kesta.