Lion Head Mesa glory & garbling

It felt a barb to have inji mentioned on the footheels of rejection. perhaps khusobek had wanted the validation after such a maiming; whatever his reason, it did not matter now.

a small wan smile crept his face like ivy. "goodnight, machiavelli," murmured the captain, for no ill will existed in him toward the slender opal. "peace will come to akashingo. you will see."

there was a last drink. khusobek drained the whorl and did not look up again.