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No, she scolded herself. Stick with the plan. After all, one of the Chosen had killed Ivet. But as she stared at Usko, Brak, Livia, and the rest, her resolve dissipated like puffer smoke.
Her stomach twisted again. “Keep quiet,” she muttered to Ellory. “Let me do the talking.”
She and Ellory stopped at the tributary’s edge, facing Danya and her Chosen. From here, Verve could sense wagons and horses nearby, but nothing worse, thank the One.
“Well met, Danya,” Verve said, bowing. “Nice day for a prisoner handoff, isn’t it?”
“Prisoner?” Usko hissed. “The moon-blood looks willing enough.”
Verve tilted her crossbow so the dawn light caught on the hematite bolt, aimed at Ellory’s head. “Open your eyes, Usko.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” he shot back. “Traitor.”
Verve grimaced at the ire in his voice, and his eyes narrowed.
“Enough.” Danya held up her hand, and Usko—and all the other Chosen within her reach—flinched. Closer now, Verve realized again how young many of them were; even younger than Owen. Did Danya believe she had brought these children to their deaths? Or did she truly expect them to kill for her? Both were true, and both boiled hot beneath Verve’s skin.
The priest eyed Ellory up and down, then smiled at Verve. “Good girl. See what you can accomplish with a little motivation?”
It took every ounce of Verve’s self-control not to aim the crossbow at Danya’s heart, plan be damned. But she schooled herself to be calm — as Danya had so often forced her. “You have a gift for persuasion. I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal. Now, will you leave me alone?”
Danya’s smile was wide. “Send the dendric mage over, and we’ll talk.”
Ellory shot Verve a look very much like the one they’d exchanged during that first brawl in the Tipsy Willow. Lip curled, hands clenched in fury, the shiftling’s desire to spring an attack pressed upon Verve’s heart, too. Verve returned Ellory’s look with one of her own: Not yet.
A low growl escaped Ellory’s throat, but she faced forward once more. As Verve made to shove her toward Danya, that other presence filtered through to her consciousness again, closer this time than before. Much closer.
Verve swore, but it was too late.
Alem stepped out of the trees behind her, hands raised. “Greetings, Serla Danya,” he called. “I’m the one you want. I’m the dendric mage.”
