Two Eyes Cenote Reticulated

Mind held in silence, she looks deeply into the unquestionable warmth in Meseba’s face. He did not push her so much as press gently. 

“You won't let anything happen,” her lips are tight but her fallen ears lift with surety, for she trusted the mazoi, both with his intentions and his efficiency. He did not need to believe Machiavelli– he just needed to keep him alive.

Before her Khusboek’s brow is heavy and she tries to look unconcerned about it, steeling herself also against the mention of poison, “Machiavelli has it. I imagine you will know the adequate quantities.”

Khusboek she trusted with this– to do it and do it right.