Bramblepoint they should deliver all my blessings in small brown paper handbags near the porch

caiaphas did not hide the the disappointment that engulfed her gilded stare — first to see the yearling ignore her question, and secondly, to see her defer to the male. the language they spoke was not alien to caiaphas — recognition flitted across her countenance, mingling with suppressed excitement. if this little she-wolf spoke trig, she was very likely the wolf caiaphas sought.

dacio spoke and it was all the siren could do to stifle the instinctive roll of her eyes. it seemed everyone knew caiaphas’ business save her — caiaphas was above being rankled so easily by the dragedan. her gaze flickered from praimfaya to him, as if he were truly disinteresting — and in a way he was, for the siren was more interested in the identity of his companion. if she was vercingetorix’s.... well...

time would tell, wouldn’t it?

what would you know of rusalka? caiaphas countered with a smile edging in. you’re here, not there. her gaze flickered back to praimfaya, eyes coming to sharp focus — noting the dark smudges under her eyes. she saw little resemblance to vercingetorix so far. it’s rusalka, not drageda. unlike your kind, we’ll always have something to come back to. now — who are you, girl?