Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

The first question was left unanswered. Machiavelli did not speak the name aloud—could not, until he was more certain of the prince's stance. Yet, it remained acknowledged if not only by the sickness and dread that lay plain upon his face, or the quickening thrum of his heart as he searched Senmut's gaze.

What do you know of Tavina's imprisonment, darling? A question returned softly, the dog's hesitation apparent. His words were a shield, not for himself but for Eset, for Muat-Riya—for the threads of loyalty he dared not fray. He would not have her found only to share her lover’s fate (if she were not sharing already), nor would he be so foolish as to breathe life into the treasonous embers smoldering in his thoughts.

Not yet.